Ghost
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Naya's albinism is both beautiful and frightening, yet everyone in Jupiter is in awe when she first graces Elsa's stage as the newest addition to her 'cabinet of curiosities'. At the same time, the carnies are blind to her origins—where did she come from? What suffering does her past hold? Why is Dandy so obsessed with her?
1. Chapter 1

_Jupiter, Florida_

_1952_

A flashy black and white feather stole; a light red dress; a black beret with a feather sticking out of the top of the cap; a large bag with a devilish-looking clown surrounded by spotlights and juggling balls; short, curly blonde hair in a perfect coif; fashionable shoes that seemed to clack against the ground as she walked; a strange air with a fascination for the mysterious and unknown—these are just some of the things that could easily describe Elsa Mars.

It was time for a new attraction to join her "cabinet of curiosities"—the freak show had just come to the quiet hamlet of Jupiter, Florida for the autumn and winter months. They had been touring the country for well over a decade, possibly longer; yet business was not doing well for them in the previous few months. Sure, Elsa had recruited conjoined twins, but the raving around town was short-lived. They needed to see something extraordinary to even think of buying a ticket to another show—Elsa turned her head to the shop window of a small boutique and gasped at the sight of a young woman dressing a mannequin with a new style of dress.

She seemed to struggle, but despite this, Elsa was amazed to see that she was whiter than white; in fact, whiter than freshly fallen, virgin snow on a sleepy mountaintop. Her hair and skin were the exact same color, nearly translucent. Even her eyelashes were the color of alabaster, and her eyebrows were so light-colored they looked absent from her unearthly face. Elsa noticed the young woman to have full lips the color of pink sugar, and she had high cheekbones defined by only the ghostly pallor of her complexion. It was when her unsmiling face looked out the shop window that Elsa got a good look at her eye color—it was unnatural, freakish to an extent; a light lavender-violet that wasn't too intense, but clear enough to distinguish as being the only colorful part of her face other than her lips.

Elsa entered the store, slinking gracefully through the glass French doors as a normal-looking woman greeted her—dark chestnut hair in a curling updo, glistening blue eyes, peaces-and-crème complexion, a bright, sky blue dress, and a pearly-white smile from ear to ear. She seemed enthused to see the woman with the strange tote bag, but Elsa, whose accent seemed to draw the attention of other customers, looked at the girl and answered her greeting.

"Welcome to Clara May's," the girl said. "Need a dress for—"

"I don't need help, _leibchen_," Elsa smiled, cutting the young saleswoman off. "I'm just browsing."

Making her way to a circle-round clothing rack, she glanced down at three dark-colored dresses that were marked with discount tags; but then the image of the young, pale woman distracted her enough to inadvertently take a few slow steps closer to her as she struggled to put the sleeve on the same mannequin she had seen just minutes before outside the shop window. She looked to be very patient with the mannequin even as she had a difficult time dressing it, and Elsa even heard her grunting slightly before making her way over to assist the girl.

"Here, allow me," the German woman offered.

The ghost-white albiness seemed to stare off into space when she faced Elsa's direction; the German was in awe of her extreme physical features, her eyes a piercing lavender-violet; her platinum-white hair straight and styled with a blunt fringe; absent, wispy white eyebrows; full, ice-colored eyelashes; full lips that resembled light pink fairy dust fallen on virgin snow. Her outfit was entirely black, which made her extremely fair features stand out even more. It consisted of a black button-up blouse that was relatively form-fitting around her average-sized bust, and beneath it was a plain white dress shirt over a knee-length pencil skirt. Her white, thin legs were covered in black hose, and her shoes were simple leather loafers. Elsa lent her a hand in putting the sleeve on the mannequin, and once it was on, the young woman's task was completed—meanwhile, the saleswoman who had graciously greeted the older German woman witnessed the help her employee was given by the customer.

"Hey!" she called out. "Don't help her! Let her do it herself!" Elsa turned back and glared at the woman, her hazel eyes darting at her mercilessly.

"I didn't ask for _your_ permission," she sneered; the young albiness said nothing.

"We need you in the back," the saleswoman said to the snow-white woman. "Some hemlines need to be done on those dresses. Right now." The girl sounded uncomfortably stern, and it was the first words Elsa had heard from the albiness' mouth.

"I already did them." She had an accent; not too heavy, but quite noticeable. _Nordic_? No. _Finnish_? Definitely not. _Slavic_? Possibly. Elsa speculated the woman's origins as the saleswoman seemed to be barking orders at her.

"Well, there's more. Go do 'em," her boss ordered. Elsa intervened—why was she treating her so terribly? Did this poor young woman, who probably had nothing to her name, get this treatment on a daily basis?

"Don't speak to her that way!" she hissed. "You should be _ashamed _of yourself!"

"Excuse me?" the young saleswoman asked. "Who do you think you're speaking to?"

"_You_!" Elsa chided. "Do you treat all of your employees like…like_animals_?! She was trying to do her job, and you just shoot her down when help is offered. How selfish can you be?!"

"I'm afraid _she_'s the only animal here. My mother hired her," the girl said, looking at the albiness cruelly; again, the young woman said nothing to defend herself.

"And _I_'m getting her out of here!" Elsa contradicted. "I just happened to be the owner of my own…_business_." Her hazel eyes turned to the snow-white woman dressed in raven black. "You're getting a new job, _leiben_. A _better_ job."

"Huh?" The albiness seemed disappointed, but the idea of a better job was like a breath of fresh air. Yet, she hadn't even known the woman's name—how could she be so sure to trust her?

"You can't do that!" the saleswoman said forcefully. "She works _here_! She's _ours_!"

"So it's slave labor now?" Elsa asked slyly. "If I report you to the police, then it won't be such a pretty sight. You probably pay this girl nothing but grief." She looked at the woman's lavender-colored eyes and continued, "but she is worth so much more than what you're making her do. Life is to be lived. Toiling in a dress shop…this is no place for a girl to truly live her dreams."

The albiness looked at both the German and the saleswoman with confusion—the woman seemed so tempted to follow through and quit her job at the dress store, but at the same time, how did she know she could trust someone whose name she barely knew? She sighed, and Elsa cut into her thoughts with three words.

"Get your things."

She did so—the albiness was convinced. She was never easily convinced, but if having a better life meant putting her trust in the unknown, then it was meant to be. It was certainly true. Life is to be lived, especially for a young woman of her age. Working fifty cents per hour at a dress shop was not easy to get by. Elsa had noticed that even her hat was black, and it had a wide-brim as to block the sun's rays against her icy, ghost-white flesh. Even as they walked down the street, the German noticed the albiness' squint, and even an eye-twitch here and there. It was the perfect time to make conversation when they sat in a shady area underneath a hawthorn tree in the park.

"What is your name?" Elsa asked. The albiness took a few moments of silence before answering.

"Naya."

"Is that a nickname?" she asked.

"I suppose."

"I must say, you are quite a lovely girl," Elsa smiled. "_Schönes mädchen_." Naya darted her lavender eyes to the woman, but didn't have a single hint of expression on her face. Not a smile, not a frown, not a glare—nothing.

"You should smile," Elsa encouraged, smiling and looking at her to try and get her to do the same—nothing. Just a lifeless, pale, unwavering gaze that stared off into space and through Elsa, who continued.

"I have a new job opportunity, as I've said," she began, a new train of thought.

Naya watched attentively as the woman pulled out a small business-like card from her large tote bag with the demonic-looking clown head and other adornments. Elsa handed it to her cordially, as if inviting her to a grand gala, and the girl's pallid, almost blue livid fingertips took it; she seemed to struggle reading the text even as she brought it closer to one eye in particular. Elsa watched her and sighed sympathetically.

"Can you see?" she asked.

"Not in one eye," Naya replied. "I am blind in one eye."

"Oh, my," Elsa gasped. "It's no wonder you were having issues with that dummy in the window."

"It was partly that," Naya said, her accent soft but noticeable. "They are hard to put clothing on anyways."

"Can you read the card now?" Elsa asked. The albiness struggled, but with her good eye, she could easily read the text.

"Eh…uh…" She stammered a bit before reading it aloud. "Fraulein Elsa's Cabinet…of…C-Curiosities?"

"_Ja_."

"Huh." Naya proceeded to return it to Elsa, who refused it and shook her head.

"_Nein_," she said. Naya's eyes darted at her again, but she listened. "Keep it. You will need it for your first day, leibchen. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Naya asked with disbelief.

"_Ja_," the German smiled. "You will start work tomorrow."

"B-But…I…I do not know your name," Naya objected. "Are…you—"

"I am Elsa Mars," she said, extending her hand out to the albiness; her hands felt cool and clammy to the touch. Perhaps the Floridian heat had been getting to her considering how she was dressed head to toe in black. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Naya soon got up from the bench and walked her way home with the business card in hand—Elsa went in another direction; the diner.

The diner in the heart of Jupiter was always bustling with the breakfast and brunch crowd at that time of day. Elsa removed her flamboyant black and white feather capelet and put it on the back of her chair and read the newspaper that was provided on the front table near the seating podium. A waitress was filling her coffee, and the two participated in friendly conversation about movies and entertainment. At least until the all-too-familiar sight of a young man wearing a leather jacket, matching cap, and distinctive mittens flirting with a beautiful, brunette waitress caught her attention; Elsa's eyes widened as she heard his voice subtly, sounding flirtatious and coy as the young waitress blushed.

"I ride a motorcycle," she heard him say. _That does it_, Elsa thought as she stood up and made her way over to his place at the counter, _no more flirting for him_.

"Jimmy!" she whispered forcefully—he looked back at her, his smile fading rather fast before he glanced up at the waitress.

"Hit the road, toots," he said, sounding nonchalant and even rude to an extent. The waitress' beautiful face, smiling only moments before accompanied by a blush, looked at Jimmy and shook her head, walking away as Elsa took a seat on the stool next to him, glaring at him harshly.

"Are you seriously willing to give up what we have for some…some _hussy_?" she hissed.

"People ain't buying tickets, Elsa. We won't be here for long anyway at this rate," Jimmy answered. "No one wants to come and see the show anymore."

"I think I have the solution we've been looking for," she contradicted. "I found her today."

"_Her_?" Jimmy asked, sounding rather bewildered.

"_Ja_," Elsa replied. "She is…the _perfect_ addition to our show."

"It won't matter if we include someone new," Jimmy expressed doubtfully, his deep, dark brown eyes looking at the older woman. "People don't want to see a bunch of carnies on stage. We could be living normal lives, you know."

"I say we are going to include her, and that is final," Elsa sneered.

Jimmy was indeed very handsome—at age twenty-four, he was quite the charmer of the ladies in town. With his hands ungloved, exhibiting a severe case of syndactyly with fused fingers forming larger digits, he made extra money on the side pleasuring women at Tupperware parties and other gatherings they would come together at to gossip and socialize. Alternatively, he was a performer in the freak show, known as _Lobster Boy_, the only place where he felt accepted by society. His eyes were dark and warm, chocolate brown and easy on anyone else's eyes, and his brown hair was close to his head and always styled with an excess of gel in the front to make his curling locks stand out. He looked at Elsa with a squirm, widening his eyes as he raised his mittened hands up in the air before putting them together again. As he walked up and left the diner, the same waitress who was waiting on Elsa approached the counter from the employee side and looked down at her.

"Uh, ma'am?" she asked. "Do you mind closing your check now? I'm going on break." Elsa stood up, putting her crazed black and white feathery stole on over her red dress before glancing back at her.

"Oh, no, darling," she began with a tricky smile. "It's on the house. Stars never pay."

Elsa seemed to slink out of the diner gracefully as the waitress watched her with shock. Yet Elsa was not the star, let alone the only star. Other matters were afoot and needed tending to.

**A/N:**

**Hey, what's up? Keri here, with a brand new AHSFS fanfic. Before you ask (if you're curious), this is NOT related to the Britta/Elina/Eleonora storyline in any way, shape or form. Naya is an entirely new OC of mine. **

**Her character's physical description is inspired by Russian albino model Nastya Zhidkova.**

**Stay tuned for the next chapter, leave feedback/questions in Reviews and if you like this story, favorite and follow!**

**Thank you and happy reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, the wind did not seem too heavy as Jimmy pasted flyers advertising the show with the help of Eve and Paul, two other performers from the freak show. Some of the other performers, including Jimmy's mother, Ethel, helped in designing the posters in such a way that they were attention-grabbing and not entirely bland like some of the other carnival posters they had seen. With bright colors and relevant imagery, the three carnies were impressed and confident that the box office would be making some money. Yet the doubt stuck to Jimmy's mind like fresh gum; _no one wants to see a bunch of carnies on stage_, he thought, _not in this town anyway_. He was standing on a small ladder, having just pasted a poster to a wooden pole, when he heard Paul's distinctive accent expressing his approval.

"Looks good there, mate," he said, his English intonation heavy. Jimmy looked down as he alighted from the steps and looked over at Eve, who towered over him by over a foot, holding the stack of flyers.

"Three more left," she said; her voice was strong—low in pitch, but strikingly feminine.

"Alright," he said nonchalantly. "I was thinking over by that light pole over there."

"I think we should disperse them," Paul suggested, moving his short, seal-like arms outward. "Not too many in the same area. Big mistake."

"Ok then. Let's go further down," Jimmy said.

_CLANG!_

A beer bottle suddenly smashed against the ground near Jimmy and Paul's booted feet as a car full of rowdy young men drove past them in the middle of the road. They all seemed to yell in unison, and it was enough to boil Jimmy's blood to the point of running after the car; when they hurled insults at the three, he began to bark at them like a mad dog held on a tight collar and leash—Eve and Paul were his collar and leash.

"FREAKS!" they all shouted at their own pace. Jimmy didn't hesitate to run toward the car as it drove away.

"ASSHOLE! GET BACK HERE! SAY THAT TO MY FACE! C'MON!" he shouted—his fellow carnies held him back, but he continued to yell until Paul calmed him down.

"Stop! Jimmy! Cool it! They're not worth it!" Paul said.

"Ugh…" Jimmy scoffed, watching as the vehicle faded in the distance. "I wish they could see that we're just like them. The way they look at us, the way they treat us. It just ain't right." Eve, whose hands were on his broad, manly shoulders, sighed and shook her head.

"That's show business," she muttered audibly.

That same afternoon, Naya had made it to the grounds of the freak show with the help of Elsa, who even assisted in packing her suitcases. The albiness was shocked to realize that the same place in which her new "job opportunity" was at was the same place she would call home from that day forth. Naya had not spoken much for that whole day, even as Elsa tried to pry her open to get answers. When asked where she was from, the moon-white, striking young woman was interrupted by the coming of their taxi, who took them away from Naya's apartment complex and to the grounds. Upon coming out of the car, she squinted to dodge the intensity of the sun's rays even though she was wearing her wide-brimmed black hat. Again, she had been wearing black—it made her look all the more ghostly as she made her way toward the entrance of the large tent. In her good eye, Naya was enthralled by the sight of an open mouth belonging to a demonic clown; fangs protruded from the top jaw and made the overall atmosphere very intimidating. Yet it was only the entrance; nothing more.

Naya felt better as she walked in and took her first glance around the large, dim red-and-white striped tent. There was a stage and a mixture of benches and chairs fit for an audience to sit and enjoy a show. She was rather confused, noticing a man with a conical head waddling past her with a few midgets who were less than half her own height. Elsa smiled back at her, noticing her bewilderment.

"_Vilkommen_," she smiled. Naya darted her eyes at Elsa again, her blind eye twitching involuntarily as she put a hand to her forehead—a headache was beginning to take form, and the German woman saw her put her hand to her covered head.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Headache," Naya replied.

"There is barely a sound here," Elsa replied, looking down at the albiness' pale white face.

"It is the light that bothers me," she said, her accent clear but quite noticeable.

"You need some fresh air. Maybe some Schnapps?" Elsa suggested.

"Air sounds alright," Naya replied, taking her hand away from her head as the two women approached a set of conjoined twins—the moon-colored woman gasped slightly to see they were identical heads sharing a body.

"Oh, Bette and Dot," Elsa smiled. Dot seemed to look at Naya with a strange glare, while the other head, Bette, looked as though she had gotten the living daylights scared out of her.

"Who is she?" the cold twin asked—Bette quivered, and Elsa noticed this quickly and reassured her. However, the albiness, who was slightly uncomfortable, expressed no emotions in her facial expression.

"Meet Naya," the German introduced. "She is our newest act." She turned to Naya, whose floppy hat still partially covered her ghostly white face. "Naya, meet Bette and Dot Tattler. They are twins. _Conjoined_ twins."

"Hello," she replied; there wasn't even expression in her voice, not even a hint of boredom or disgust with her surroundings. Bette's look of fearful curiosity faded to a smile, her lips parted slightly as her soft brown eyes looked at the strikingly beautiful albiness. She focused on the freakishly unnatural eye color and its intensity.

"Wow, purple eyes," she said softly in awe. "I've never seen those."

"There's no way they're real," Dot sneered.

"They are in_deed_ real," Elsa replied, her hazel eyes darting at the colder twin with a more erect neck on her shared body.

As the owner of the freak show and the new act made their way through the large, spacious tent to the outside, Bette looked over at her sister's head, raising the arm on her side of their body to begin biting her nails nervously. Dot, using her own arm, patted her elbow to make her stop, watching the young woman in ghastly, but plain black clothing walk down toward the other entrance of the great tent.

"She's whiter than the moon," Bette said nervously. "She scared me a little."

"I wonder where she's from," Dot speculated. "No one looks like that."

"She looks like a ghost, Dot," Bette pointed out.

"I know, I know," her sister said.

"What if we gotta bunk with her?" Bette asked with worry. "I'm afraid she's gonna be at the foot of our bed in the dead of night—"

"Bette, stop worryin'," Dot warned. "She probably's got her own tent."

* * *

Naya had indeed been given her own tent, even though it was small; it still did its function perfectly. A cot with a white coversheet, down pillow and a bland beige quilt that smelled of cheap perfume consisted of the area she was to sleep in from now on, and there was a wooden trunk with a broken lock where Elsa instructed Ethel, the bearded lady, to help the albiness unpack. Upon seeing the bizarre sight of a bearded woman, Naya gasped and her eyes widened ever so slightly as her blind eye twitched on its own; in turn, Ethel looked at the young woman and was just as dumbfounded. Knowing how she felt when complete, 'normal' strangers stared at her for having a full, auburn-brown beard, she tried her best to look past the girl's moon-white hair and skin to help her unpack. It took a good half hour or so to unpack all of her belongings and fold them neatly into the wooden chest, but the bearded lady couldn't help but stare curiously.

"Where were ya before this?" she asked, her thick Baltimore accent lacing her voice like a tight steel boot. Naya sighed and peered down at her mostly dark-colored garments before answering.

"I came from New York last year," the albiness replied.

"Were ya workin'?" Ethel asked.

"Yes."

"Where? Here in town?"

"Yes."

"One word answers ain't enough to get a conversation goin', you know," Ethel joked. "Well, I know you're probably shy. Who am I kiddin'?"

"Misses," Naya began.

"Call me Ethel," the bearded lady replied.

"Ethel," Naya corrected herself before continuing, "what is this place?"

"We're a travelin' show," the woman replied. "The most unique of the unique. I can definitely see why you were sent here."

"I do not understand," she responded; her eye twitched again. Ethel sighed and looked at her before sitting down on a chair that was put in the tent for the albiness' use next to a small card-sized table.

"Elsa took us all in, girlie," Ethel continued, her hands in her parted lap where the skirt of her simple blue frock rested. "She's given us a home. A job. Every other night, we perform for the curious. Really, we are more than just a band of folks to gawk at. We're people, but the world don't want to see that. Understand now?"

"I suppose," Naya nodded slowly. "I am to perform?"

"Well, that's why Elsa brought ya here," Ethel smirked. "Look at ya. You're whiter than fresh sour cream on a Sunday mornin'!"

"I was born this way," the young woman responded solemnly. "I…I cannot be seen on a stage."

"Why not? Don't you got a talent?" Ethel asked curiously.

The last thing in Naya's second suitcase answered her question just perfectly—it was wrapped in an old, dry tan dishrag; the bearded lady uncovered it slowly to see a pair of worn, old pointe shoes. The satin, that was once a soft pink shade, was now dirtied and faded with the flat, specially-pointed toes frayed slightly. At the top of the toes near the opening was a small bow of dirtied string. The only clean part of the ballet shoes that showed barely any signs of wear were the silken ribbons that fastened them to the ankles when worn. Ethel looked at Naya, who struggled to smile a closed grin.

"You're a dancer?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How long have ya danced?"

"Since…since I was young," Naya answered frankly; there was a despondence in her soft accent.

"There's no way you kept your shoe size all these years," Ethel joked, wrapping the ballet pointe shoes back in their covering.

"No."

"Well, I say you go meet the others. I'll take ya," Ethel suggested.

* * *

Freaks.

_I am not a freak_, Naya thought to herself, _just different_.

A million thoughts raced through her curious, fearful mind as she saw a dwarf-like man, who was holding a chicken in his small arms, make peculiar sounds at the albiness. He was dressed rather simply with striped shorts and an off-white t-shirt and worn slippers. The chicken pecked rapidly at the air and clucked loudly as the little man made the annoying sounds. A woman without legs was on a table with a mustached dwarf in stripes while a doll-sized woman in a pink sari, and they all stared at her.

"Meep! Meep! Meep!" the little dwarf with the chicken vocalized. Suddenly, an attractive young man sprinted to the scene, his attention caught by the little man's adorable squeaks—it was Jimmy, his deformed hands snug in his pockets wearing a wife-beater tank top that seemed to accentuate his masculine form.

"Don't be scared!" his voice exclaimed. "Meep just got a bit excited. It ain't everyday he comes across—"

Naya, whose eyes were diverted to the ground with the brim of her hat covering her face, picked her head up to look at the man talking to her, and Jimmy froze in his footsteps to stare in awe and take in her image. Dressed in black, the shade only intensified the albiness' ghostly pale features. Jimmy felt a strange chill move down his spine as he stared at her striking appearance—white hair, straight as a ruler with a blunt fringe; moon-colored skin that seemed to have a spectral glow; thick, silvery eyelashes framing intense, light lavender-colored eyes; full, lush lips that were naturally a light pink color and looked softer than those of a baby. Her bone structure was fascinating to look at, as it was accentuated by the ghostly glow of her paper-white skin, and he noticed that her fingertips were slightly blue; it reminded him of post-mortem lividity. The other carnies present looked at the man with deformed, fused fingers as his deep, dark gaze was focused on the new act in their show.

"Hi, I-I'm Jimmy," he stuttered, gulping before licking his lower lip. "J-Jimmy Darling."

He gave a slow wink, before parting his lips for a slight smile; he didn't want to seem rude or condescending, but Naya got the message; after all, he himself had been used to the cruelty of the world outside the freak show. Her eyes analyzed him closely; he looked and seemed relatively normal compared to her. He had brown hair with a generous amount of gel keeping his front curls in place, dark brown eyes that were easy to look into comfortably, and a masculine build. She didn't pay any attention to his hands—she looked at him. _Him_. His deformity wasn't alarming to her even though he had removed his hands from his pockets. She kept her face expressionless even as Jimmy, trying to be friendly and welcoming, introduced the carnies present right then and there.

"This is Suzy," he nervously stated, introducing the woman with no legs on the table with the small, doll-sized woman—he picked her up and she smiled, crooked teeth and all with an adorable air about her.

"Ma Petit," he stated; the doll-sized woman smiled, and it prompted a slight closed grin to hide in Naya's unwavering facial expression.

"Hello, miss," the little woman said, a thick Indian accent to add to her exotic charm.

"Toulouse, here," the midget in stripes said, raising his hand with a cool expression on his face.

"And you met Meep already," Jimmy concluded, patting the dwarf on the head as he held the chicken.

"Meep!" he sounded. Naya looked down at him with hidden humor in her light violet eyes, looking back at Jimmy.

"Is that what he is called? The noises he makes?" she asked. The man with deformed hands smiled at her charmingly, noticing her accent. _Where is she from_, he thought.

"Uh, yeah," he chuckled. "His nickname."

Naya nodded, making her way back to her tent—it happened to be right next door to Jimmy's small trailer. He stared at her as she walked away, and he felt a familiar presence move closer to his side; it was Ethel holding a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies that were still steaming and crisp from the oven. She couldn't help but listen to her intuition as a mother—she watched Jimmy's eyes as they fixed on the albiness dressed in raven black. Her white hair, which fell just below her shoulders seemed to sway in the wind with the brim of her hat along with her pitch black, drapey skirt. Ethel cleared her throat and caught his attention.

"Jimmy," she said firmly, setting the cookies on the wooden picnic table beneath the open patio tent. "Eat up. They're gettin' cold."

"Uh…oh! Cookies?" Her son seemed to be in a daze, and his bearded mother leaned into him, her blue eyes staring up into his sternly as she shook her head.

"Don't get any ideas, son," she instructed. Jimmy shook his head rapidly, as if he were hiding something.

"Oh no! _No_! Never! Not at all, ma," he replied rapidly.

As he sat down to have some cookies with his fellow carnies, he gave the first cookie to Meep, glancing over in the distance to see that the albiness had faded from sight.

* * *

Naya struggled to sleep that night; the headache she had gotten from that afternoon only got worse by the hour. She couldn't even eat dinner, yet she felt nauseous. She was curled up in a fetal position on her cot, wearing nothing but a white nightgown that made her look like nothing but a blank space occupied by her soul; an apparition, if one wills it. The sleeves were slightly translucent, exposing part of a series of digits permanently tattooed on her forearm. She shut her eyes and took a breath as if to brace herself, a tear streaming down her face until a voice became apparent in the room.

"Miss Naya Stolinski?"

Naya was suddenly afraid; booming voices had conditioned her to fear them altogether. She sat up, peering her violet eyes over toward where her tent had opened. A portly, short man in a uniform stood there, holding out a badge that seemed to shine at her from the lights outside her tent that connected in strings across the grounds. He wore a fedora, and the young woman furrowed her platinum eyebrows inward to take in the sight.

"Is that you?" he asked. "Don't be afraid. I'm a detective."

"G-Go away!" she called out, motioning her hand; she was too afraid to care about her tone of voice, even if he was a man in uniform.

"I can't, and I ain't goin' to," he stated, "because you're under arrest."

"Why?" she asked frantically. "I did nothing wrong."

"Yeah, you did. Murder," the detective said as he entered and tried to pull out handcuffs.

Naya fled from her bed and cornered herself, bringing her legs tightly up to her as she blocked her ears, her pale hand resisting the law enforcement officer as he tried to cuff her wrists. She suddenly let out a scream as she resisted him; it turned into a struggle, and a familiar voice entered the tent as the policeman was pulled off the albiness—it was Jimmy, backed by Paul the Illustrated Seal and Amazon Eve.

"Stop it! Right now!" he barked. "What the hell is going on?!"

"This little lady is under suspicion for murder," the detective stated coldly. "Listenin' to her voice, _espionage_ is also a possibility. That must be investigated, though. But we recently seen a dead man near Lake Okeechobee and another dead person in her home."

"Espionage? What the…_what_?!" Jimmy exclaimed with confusion. He glared back at the albiness on the floor, and she shook her head rapidly.

"No!" she exclaimed, her lower lip trembling as tears fell down her white face. "It is not true!"

"I have to take her in for questionin', so if you freaks step outta my way—"

"DON'T CALL US FREAKS!" Jimmy shouted to the top of his lungs; his blood was in a hot pot now, feeling rage build up within him; the other three carnies, including Naya, watched him. "Get the HELL out of here!"

"She's been with us all day!" Eve protested to the policeman.

"She couldn't have killed anyone," Paul added, shaking his head with disbelief.

"In fact, me and my boys are gon' run you guys outta town tomorrow," the detective replied. "There is no place in Jupiter for freaks."

_SLASH!_

Naya gasped in fear, watching as Jimmy took the blade on his person and switched it up, rapidly swiping it across the policeman's throat. Blood began to gush out of the wound, and the detective choked beyond belief before finally dropping dead to the ground. The fury in Jimmy's facial expression was quite evident, but before any blood could spill in Naya's tent, the two other carnies took him outside and dragged him out, leaving Jimmy with the albiness to check on her. It was the first time she got a good look at his hands, fused fingers and all, and it didn't seem to bother her much to his surprise.

"Y-You killed him!" she whispered emphatically.

"He was gonna take you away," he answered.

She was silent, taking a sigh as she began to feel lightheaded; he noticed this and caught her as she fainted in his arms. He carried her bridal-style to her cot, looking down at her majestic pallor as he set her down. Her eyelashes were silvery-white, matching her other features perfectly. Within moments, he left; her ghostly image stuck in his mind.

* * *

A procession of carnies were led by Jimmy to the woods nearby, where the body of the detective was laid out on the grassy, sod terrain. Everyone had some type of sharp cutting tool; the handsome young man expressed his rage.

"Friends," he began. "This lawman was supposed to protect and serve the innocent, but instead, he judged us guilty before he even set foot into our camp. All we've ever wanted was a place where we could feel safe and be just the way we are, but no one is going to hand it to us. We're going to have to rise up and take it! Don't we deserve to be happy?" Jimmy raised his tone, sounding more angry by the minute. "When bad things keep happening to good people, you start to question what is right and what is wrong. Well, I say it's time we make our own right and wrong! I say it's wrong for them to treat us like shit and kick us around like the scum of the earth! They want to call us monsters? Fine! We'll _act_ like monsters!"

He raised the meat cleaver—dismemberment began.


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you like your seat, Dandy?"

Gloria, an older woman dressed in finery, looked at her grown son sitting next to her in the audience. They had bought out all the seats, which still made the show money but it wasn't enough considering they were the only ones in the audience. Her son, a young man of about twenty-five with black hair curled at the front, sat up straight with a prim look on his face; it was very fitting due to their wealth and status, but it made him look like a man-boy, a sour-puss, a fruit. His cold blue eyes looked at his mother and he sighed breathily.

"They're _all_ my seats," he replied sternly. "I can sit anywhere I want."

"Indeed," Gloria responded, her lazy eye staring off into space.

"In fact, I like the one you're in better, mother," Dandy replied with a convincing smirk.

"Oh." It was at that moment Gloria stood up from her chair; they had switched. _The view certainly is better than here_, he thought to himself.

"Better?" she asked.

"It's warmer," he said with a slight smile.

"Mother made it toasty for you," Gloria laughed. "Can you see?"

"There's nothing to see yet, mother," Dandy replied, stiffing his upper lip. He took an impatient, deep breath. "Where are the freaks? I'm getting bored! I don't like this!" Gloria shook her head and put a hand on her son's shoulder, feeling the rich fabric of his light blue blazer.

"Remember what the doctor said," she reminded him, "if you let yourself get agitated, the rash will come back. You don't want that, do you?"

"No," Dandy strained, "I just want the show to start."

* * *

White—her dress was the color of a dove's feathers. Naya was given a gown that fit her like a shroud. The bodice was made of clean, new lace and it had an old-fashioned style of closure in the front that consisted of small buttons. The bottom of the dress was a few inches past meeting the ground; it was so long that she had to pick up the front to walk without tripping. Ethel, who was all made up with her hair styled and having her beard trimmed by another carnie, was the first to notice the white veil that covered her pale, lily-colored face. Elsa made sure it was not a bridal veil, but see-through enough for an audience to see her face as the spotlight shown on her like a light from heaven. Upon seeing herself in Elsa's full-length mirror, Naya gasped—_ghastly_, she thought, _disgusting_.

"I look terrible," she said somberly.

"Don't say that, _leibchen_. You look…" The German woman seemed speechless for a moment, in awe of her ghostly beauty, "_beautiful_."

"People will look at me and be scared," Naya contradicted.

"You are meant to be looked at, _leiben_," Elsa said, smiling as her hazel eyes sparkled at her manipulatively—even her own costume, consisting of garish, over-the-top makeup and a blue pantsuit, met the same level of extremity as Naya's pale features against the gown given to her. Naya sighed as she watched the German walk away suddenly, and when those hazel eyes, circled by thick, blue eyeshadow, looked at her, she straightened her back.

"Five minutes," she said, gesturing her to come toward her to follow close behind. "Come."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Ethel; Dandy and Gloria, still in the audience, feasted their eyes on the strange spectacle. "Everything you've heard is true. All that has been advertised is here, under this tent. Wonders; curiosities; a plethora of the strange, the weird, the bizarre, the unusual!" Her voice seemed to boom charmismatically. "From jungles untamed to forests enchanted."

The light shed on Meep, who bit the head off a young chicken. Gloria winced in her seat before the light turned to Pepper and Salty, a microcephalic duo who just stood there looking as though they didn't know what planet they were on.

"From the Dark Continent to the spice-laden lands of India."

Amazon Eve, with her great, tall stature, stood next to a small cage holding Ma Petit, who was dressed in an astounding orange and green outfit complete with her signature sari.

"Astounding mistakes of nature are gathered here for your amusement and edification. What you're about to see will astound your very senses and harrow. Yes! _H__arrow_ your souls. Tonight, for the first time anywhere, we introduce a frightening spectacle. A chill will run down your spine, and it will scare the living soul from your ever-beating hearts. Dead, or alive? That is the question, the answer being the latter. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present…the Living Ghost!"

As the light shone on the young albiness dressed in white, Dandy's cold blue eyes warmed up and widened as he felt his breath being swiped away by the pale beauty onstage. Gloria, who was dumbfounded at the sight, was on the brink of fainting; yet her son could not take his eyes away from her form. Naya, who was easily irritated by bright lights, turned her eyes downward slightly, giving the two-person audience a glance at her naturally white, but full eyelashes. Her lithe, willowy figure was dressed in the high-collar, white lace gown with a long skirt, and it only intensified her spectral presence. Even as Ethel continued to talk, Dandy looked up at Naya, who glowed on the stage like an ethereal spirit.

"But amidst the terrifying and the tragic, there is a voice of beauty. Ladies and gentlemen, direct from the cabarets of prewar Berlin, the enchantress who holds sway over all of nature's mistakes: Fraulein Elsa Mars!"

The large, red velvet curtains drew back as a woman with a honey blonde, curled coif, obnoxious blue eyeshadow, insanely intense red lipstick, and a sky blue pant suit sitting on a mini prop rocket that seemed to slide across the stage. Her husky contralto, slightly out of tune, began to croon a lively song:

"_It's a god-awful small affair  
To the girl with the mousy hair  
But her mommy is yelling "No"  
And her daddy has told her to go_

_But her friend is nowhere to be seen  
Now she walks through her sunken dream  
To the seat with the clearest view  
And she's hooked to the silver screen…"_

It was a spectacle—Gloria and Dandy watched catatonically as Elsa gave her performance. Eve was playing the melody on the piano to accompany her unique voice, while Paul played the drums. Ma Petit was playing a mini violin created especially for a woman her size. Acrobats on suspended rings performed tricks in the background, and a sword-swallower performed a mini act on the side of the stage. Pepper and Salty were moving props to simulate animation, while the rest of the acts were backstage waiting for their turn to be displayed. Naya's heart raced—she stared out on the stage, looking at Elsa and watching her performance include sparkly confetti dropping from the ceiling of the stage. She seemed to be so comfortable in and she was familiar with the spotlight; it was something Naya herself felt she could never do. She was so used to being left to her own devices and in solitude—how could Elsa possibly believe that she could just walk on stage as easily as her and 'perform' for people to gawk at her unique, but extreme physical appearance. She took a glance over at Jimmy, who, as Elsa's performance drew to a close, held his deformed hands in fists at his sides, a look of anger in his eyes directed at the floor.

"…_wo__nder if he'll ever know._

_He's in the best-selling show._

_Is there life on Mars?_"

The spotlight dimmed the moment she stopped singing, a short moment of limelight glory before the light went out above her. She began to breathe heavily, disillusioned—_I'm the star_, she thought morosely, _why aren't they applauding me_?

* * *

Naya had removed her veil after the show, which was nothing but a large piece of thin, transparent white fabric. She was sitting at the mirror of one of the makeup tables backstage, looking into her ghostly reflection and sighing. Her performance had included nothing more than being on her toes on pointe, sashaying while moving her arms about like an eerie phantom having just escaped from its physical body. Dandy, who had been watching her, managed to sneak backstage with his mother close by, and the moment she stood up and separated her thoughts and distant memories from reality, she saw him there with a grin from ear to ear. Rather than smiling back, her light violet eyes just stared.

"Care for a cigarette?" he asked, holding one out to her with a lighter at the ready.

Naya politely took it between her pale white fingers and looked down at it—memories came back, but she didn't want to be rude. Upon putting the butt in her mouth, he lit the end and she took a short drag. Feeling nicotine burn her lungs was a sensation she hadn't felt in a long time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jimmy, the young man with deformed hands, approach them. He almost froze in his tracks again at the sight of the ghostly albiness, but he was aiming for Dandy.

"You ain't allowed back here, bub," he said, jerking his thumb backward. "Scram."

"I'm not here for _you_," Dandy responded meanly; he focused on Naya's intense eyes as she took the cigarette between her fingers and pulled it gently away from her full, fairy dust-pink lips. "Hm, I've never seen purple eyes before. Are they real?"

"Yes." Dandy noticed her accent and smiled with delight, turning to Gloria behind him.

"I want her. Let's ask the owner how much she costs," he cooed with excitement—Naya just stared at him, darting her eyes intensely. He sounded just like a young child; _pathetic_, she thought to herself. Jimmy still stood by with a glare at the rich, prissy man, and Elsa pranced by with Pepper, Salty, and Toulouse close behind as she held Ma Petit in her arms. Gloria obeyed her son's strange request.

"Ma'am?" she asked Elsa, stopping her graciously. "How much?" Elsa looked at her condescendingly and shook her head.

"My monsters are not prostitutes," the German replied. Naya grew increasingly nervous, but little did she know that Jimmy's soft, chocolate brown eyes watched her protectively as they alternated from her, to Gloria, and finally to Dandy.

"Oh no, you misunderstood," Dandy said, a slight shake of his head. "We don't want to buy her just for the night. We want to buy her. Period. Twenty thousand."

Naya furrowed her platinum, almost absent eyebrows inward; Jimmy shook his head and almost face palmed, and Elsa detested the thought. Naya was indeed beautiful and exotic, but very unique—she knew that if she were to be sold off, the freak show would go right down the toilet.

"But she's an albiness. A very…_rare_ specimen of our fine human race," Elsa sneered, trying to derail their offer. "She's our newest headliner! Have you any idea what kind of box office she will bring to my show within the next year?"

"Alright," Dandy sped. "Forty thousand. Not a penny more." Paul, who stood in the crowd nearby and heard what was happening, went over with his tattooed, seal-like appendages waving in front of him.

"Unless she is a real ghost," he joked. There was bunch of snickers, but no one laughed. Especially Jimmy—he looked at the beautiful albiness protectively and felt his blood begin to boil like water in a pan.

"Let's ask _her_, then," Dandy said, approaching the albiness and taking her pale, almost clammy hands into his own. "Miss, how does forty thousand dollars sound for you? Do you think that is a fair enough price for you to be sold for?" Naya darted her eyes at him, giving him the dirtiest look she could think of at that moment; what made it so gruesome was that it looked entirely expressionless. Her eyes did the talking.

"Mister," she said in her light Slavic intonation, "I will not go anywhere. I am a person, not an item. If you had any sense of…human dignity, you would think again before putting a filthy price tag on me."

Naya started to walk away nervously; Dandy followed her, relentlessly determined.

"We will take _very_ good care of you, beautiful miss!" he exclaimed dreamily, his eyes fixed on her ghostly form as she held the front of her dress up to prevent tripping. "All your needs, all your desires. I will give you anything you want for the rest of your life! _Please_!" He continued to chase her, and Gloria rolled her eyes. "Please, don't leave!"

"Come, Dandy! Don't pester her," Gloria called out; Jimmy sighed slightly with relief, keeping his cool as he listened to the man's mother speak to Elsa as Dandy returned with a childish frown on his face.

"I want to go home!" he whined.

"Come. I need a long hot bath, even though nothing will wash away the ghastly memory of that infernal caterwauling." Gloria paused for a moment, looking at Elsa dead in the eye. "By far the most freakish thing of all tonight was your pathetic attempt at singing."

Elsa glared at her; she hated being insulted or looked down upon like one of her own freaks. She stiffed upper lip and watched the man-boy and his mother leave the carnies to their own devices.

Naya had been by her lonesome for the remainder of the night.

**A/N:**

**So what do you guys think? Like it? Don't like it?**

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	4. Chapter 4

Naya had not stirred from her sleep, yet her dream was enough to bring her back to hell. She could feel her wrists tied on the sides of the table, bent over with her back exposed completely; she could hear herself reciting foreign numbers; with every number came another bloody lash against her pale, smooth back, all in a consecutive fashion before stumbling and making a mistake. She could still hear those dreadful, loud voices hissing harshly at the girl in their own language. They seemed to echo hauntingly through the recesses of her mind.

_"__Start over! She missed seven!"_

Naya muttered, feeling her violet eyes cry light, clear tears. She turned on her side.

_"__Start over!"_

She suddenly jerked up, biting her lower lip painfully as her eyes widened. Her blind eye started to twitch uncontrollably, pushing the base of her palms into them to repress the terrible thoughts, the disturbing imagery, the agonizing sensations, the tongue that was not her own, the brutalization of the innocent—she tore her comforter off her and walked out of her tent, looking up to see that the moon was full and high. Her white, thin feet were in direct contact with the earth beneath her, and the lunar glow illuminated her colorless complexion.

The soft, warm wind of the Floridian night seemed to dry her tears. Yet relief had not come instantly.

* * *

A lot had happened in the following few days; the morning after Naya's night of unrest, a strange trailer had pulled in. Out came a bald man of average height but he was rather bulky, wearing a light blue shirt and suspenders holding up his brown slacks. Naya had been watching their arrival by peeking between the curtains at the entrance of her tent, seeing him help out a dark-skinned woman wearing a bright orange skirt and a mink fur stole. Her black, coarse hair was curled—she was indeed a lovely woman, but she glared down at the man.

"Please tell me this is a rest stop," Naya had heard the woman say before witnessing them enter the great tent.

It turned out that Elsa reluctantly recruited them both that day as new acts for the freak show. Naya learned that evening, at dinner with the rest of the freaks, that the man was named Dell Toledo; his stage name was the Stupendous Strong Man. The woman who was with him was his wife, Desiree Dupree, and she was even more 'freakish' than he was—she had three breasts and, even more disturbing—

"Proper lady parts and a ding-a-ling," she had said at the table while everyone was eating. Naya had never heard of such a thing, but she looked away with embarrassment.

Things seemed to go awry when Dell, not only became an act in the show, was first seen by Ethel. She had gone into his trailer, where he was sitting down reading a newspaper, shocked at the presence of the woman from his past.

"Well, I'll be damned," he began, his blue eyes directed at the bearded woman. "If it ain't old Honest Abe herself. You look good. How's the ol' soup catcher? I would've expected to see some gray in it by now. You been dyeing it? You can tell me." Ethel shook her head and waved her hand to the side slightly with disdain, disregarding his false flattery.

"Let's cut the chit-chat," she began. "I won't be here long, and neither will you."

"Whatever your story is," Dell continued, "you're not welcome here."

"You stay away from Jimmy," she warned.

"Jimmy who?"

Ethel was shocked—_Jimmy who_, she repeated in her head. Her son, Jimmy. _Their_ son; the son he had abandoned when he abandoned her; the young man with fused, calloused fingers that was both a charmer of women and a feisty, protective spirit. Ethel remembered threatening to kill him with the shotgun when he put his filthy, storng mitts on their baby, his deformed hands flailing weakly and helplessly in the air as Dell screamed at the crying infant. She continued to speak to Dell as if he were still the same old scum of the earth he had left her as.

"You stay away from my boy," she warned, pointing her thick index finger. "If ya get anywhere near 'im, my freaks'll tear ya limb from limb."

"That's no way to talk to your new boss," the strongman chuckled.

"You'll never be my boss."

"Believe me," Dell continued, putting the newspaper down. "I didn't come for that kid, and I sure as hell didn't come here for you. I'm married now. She's a lady and a star."

"You wouldn't know a real lady from a goat's ass," Ethel retorted.

"As I was saying, your friend Elsa put me in charge of the place," Dell cut in. "I simply pointed out security around this place is a little lax. You wouldn't want nothing wandering in or wandering out."

"And are _you_ aware there's a vicious killer abroad in the land?"

With that being said, Ethel left Dell to his own devices, sighing as soon as she left his trailer.

* * *

The following day, Jimmy decided to treat a group of willing carnies, including Naya, to lunch at the diner. The albiness stuck out like a sore thumb, her white features intensified by her black casual ensemble and her wide-brimmed hat to shade her lily-colored face. Eve, Paul, Pepper, Salty, Suzy, and Toulouse were with them. The same pretty brunette waitress Jimmy was flirting with earlier that week looked at the group of outsiders and gasped, feeling a strange chill make its way down her spine.

"W-What do you want?" she asked.

"Well, this is a diner, ain't it?" the handsome, gloved man asked; he seemed cool, calm and collected with a slight grin running across his face. "We're hungry. We came to be served."

At that moment, the entire counter cleared, the stool's occupants quickly scurrying out of the diner with newspapers in hand and unpaid checks still in the waitress' possession. Jimmy shrugged as he led the way for the others to sit along the seats that had just been abandoned, grabbing menus and napkins and distributing them on both sides along the seats. The cook, owner, and two waitresses looked at Jimmy as he casually opened a menu to look at it, but then their attention was caught by Naya—she was whiter than a ghost, whiter than the full moon at night, whiter than a snowfall; it frightened the brunette, especially when she turned her head slightly to read with her good eye. She sighed at the menu's choices, glancing over at a mother with her two children; one of them, a little girl, began to cry and whine.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked. "Excuse me? Is there another place you can eat? You're upsetting my child." Jimmy's attention was immediately caught, and he took a glance at the small family.

"Tell the woman to stop looking at me!" the girl whined, referring to the intensely pale albiness. "She's weird!"

"Hey, kid," Jimmy interjected. "I bet you'd love the show if you saw it." He turned his dark eyes to the woman. "Tell the ticket lady Jimmy sent you." He winked charmingly, turning back to his menu. "I think we are ready to order now. I'll have a turkey and lettuce club. What do you want, Eve?"

"I think Salisbury steak hits the spot," the abnormally tall woman said, closing her menu.

"I'll have the iceberg wedge," Suzy smiled. "I'm trying to watch my figure." The carnies giggled at her joke.

"And what do you want, Pepper?" Jimmy asked. The microcephalic woman held her fork and knife out as if ready to eat, her voice boisterous and joyful.

"Meatloaf! Meatloaf!" she exclaimed.

"She'll have the meatloaf," Jimmy repeated to the waitress.

Naya still looked at the menu, and as Jimmy glanced over to her side of the counter to see what she and Paul would've liked to order, he got distracted by the sight of a series of numbers tattooed into the albiness' pale forearm. Unbeknownst to the young woman, her sleeve had fallen so the digits were half-exposed. The ink looked slightly faded, but it was pitch black against the lily shade of her complexion, etched in her skin as though it were only yesterday. He squinted slightly to get a better look and try to make out the numbers, but before he could, Naya pulled up her raven-colored sleeve briskly and voiced her order.

"Just…some salad," she said. Paul, who stood from his seat, looked over at a plate of salad left by one of the previous customers and smiled.

"Hey, this looks good," he said, sitting down at the seat the plate was near on the other side of Naya. "I think I'll just have this."

"I-I think I should bus this plate," the waitress responded, approaching the short-armed man with her manicured fingers at the edge of the dish.

_WHACK!_

Before the waitress could take the plate, Paul had whacked her hand.

"Hey! Apologize to this girl! She's only doing her job!" the owner exclaimed lividly.

"We're not bothering anybody," Jimmy interrupted.

"But that's not his food," the lovely brunette waitress answered rudely.

"Who cares?" Paul asked with frustration.

"I have the right to refuse service!" the owner replied. "You all need to leave." In the meantime, Naya was getting apprehensive being around all the commotion.

Suddenly, the entrance of the diner opened to welcome in Dell, whose bald head was covered by his brown fedora. Jimmy turned around to see him there, and he menacingly made his way over to the seated carnies at the counter. Paul was still arguing with the waitress, but Dell had his own input—he had been outside posting some flyers on light poles.

"What's going on in here?" he boomed. "Giving these folks a free show?! They're not gonna want to buy tickets!" He shook his head, grunting. "Come on, you stupid freaks."

"Don't call us freaks!" Jimmy exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. "We're _people_! Just like everyone else in this joint!"

"I said, _let's go_!" Dell exclaimed, grabbing Jimmy's shirt and pulling him outside with him, opening the door.

Naya followed the carnies to the window only to gasp in shock at the sight of Jimmy being relentlessly punched by the strongman. He was cornered against one of the light poles that just gotten a flyer pasted to it. The punches seemed endless as Dell propped him back up only to punch him down again, repeatedly and repeatedly.

The albiness was relieved to see it had ended within five minutes. Poor Pepper never got her meatloaf.

* * *

That afternoon, sirens wailed on the grounds of the freak show—Elsa, Ma Petit, Pepper, and Eve had been outside doing laundry, and Jimmy sat on a lawn chair reading the newspaper. His black eye had hurt a lot, but he rose to his feet upon seeing two policemen come out of the vehicle and show their badges.

"Elsa Mars?" the first cop asked.

"What is the matter?" she asked, holding her pink- silken bathrobe to her form.

"I am Detective Colquitt, and this is my partner. We have a warrant to search the premises for evidence pertaining to the disappearance of Detective Robert Bunch. We have reason to believe he was murdered here," he told her authoritatively.

"What?!" the German exclaimed.

"We received an anonymous tip," the second policeman added. "Which tent belongs to Dell Toledo?"

"That one over there!" Jimmy exclaimed—_I hope it works_, he thought, _I'll get rid of that asshole once and for all_. Dell shook his head, looking over at Jimmy before looking at the police officers.

"Wait a minute!" the strongman exclaimed. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Why so smug?" Jimmy hissed. "You're the one with a guilty look on your face."

The second policeman had pulled a distressed Desiree from Dell's trailer, and she struggled to be released accompanied by a scream. Soon, he went in to check around for any evidence pertaining to the detective's disappearance. He rummaged through the small cupboards, under tables, in drawers, and even under their bed and mattress—nothing was found.

"Nothing in the trailer," he called out.

"No one moves a muscle until every part of this place is searched!" Colquitt announced. Dell approached Jimmy, his blue eyes boring holes into his soul as he spoke viciously at the young man.

"Is this what guilt looks like?" he hissed. "When a plan goes wrong?"

"Found it!"

Everyone turned to see the second policeman holding none other than Meep, the little dwarf man who only knew one word and bit the heads off chickens in his act. The dwarf was very afraid, and the look in his small, dark eyes seemed to break Jimmy's heart. In the policeman's other hand was the badge he had tried to hide in Dell's trailer; in turn, Dell put it in Meep's bedroll. Elsa gasped and shook her head with a hand on her chest.

"I'm shocked, officer," she sighed nervously.

"Put that freak in the car," Colquitt ordered.

As the police drove away with the adorable little man in the back seat, Jimmy could still hear his cries for help.

"_Meep_…_meep_…._meep_…"

* * *

That night, Ethel walked into the great tent to find her son in a drunken stupor, laying on the stage like a vagrant with a bottle of whiskey in his deformed hand. She walked closer, seeing Jimmy put the opening to his lips and gulp down another swig of the strong substance. Ethel also saw the black eye—she shook her head.

"What're ya doin', Jimmy?" she asked with concern. He held in a burp and slurred catatonically.

"W-What's it…look like I'm doin'?" he responded.

"My sweet boy," she sighed sadly. "I've been so proud of ya, stayin' away from this shit. I ain't never seen you pick up a drink before. You're such an example to the others!" Jimmy shook his head.

"No, I can't lead the others," he said, almost in a whisper. "They took Meep." He sniffled, tears coming to his eyes at the memory of hearing him whimper with fear at the hands of the cops. "_Meep_. Of all people. It's all my fault. He didn't…do anything!"

"Nonsense!" Ethel said emphatically. "You had nothin' to do with that out there today! The police had no right roughin' ya up like that!"

"I just wanted him gone," Jimmy said, more tears in his eyes.

"Meep?"

"NO! Dell!" he exclaimed violently. "Meep can't stay in prison for the night!" He shook his head and cried, looking at his mother. "He ain't tough. Just weird…" He proceeded to try and step off the stage. "I'm gonna tell 'em the story."

"Jimmy? No, Jimmy, you listen to me," Ethel began.

"I gotta get 'im out!" he exclaimed. "They gotta know the truth."

"Who?" Ethel asked.

Within moments, a truck drove by the great tent, and the noise caught their attention. Jimmy, who was already on his way toward the entrance, came out to see two men holding a large burlap sack, tossing it on the ground before the driver sped away. Jimmy collapsed to his knees and slowly pulled back the flap, revealing a grotesquely beaten-up face with a bleeding head. Even one of the familiar small eyes as about ot fall from its socket—it was Meep's dead body. Jimmy lost it.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed. "NOOOO!"

Tears filled his eyes as he sobbed, grieving over the death of his friend as some other carnies came out to see what the commotion was all about. Ethel began to cry upon seeing the dead dwarf, injured and bloody, in front of her distraught son. Paul, Eve, Elsa, Pepper, Salty, Toulouse and the others all came out in a succession. When Naya heard the frantic screams and cries of Jimmy, it took her back to a miserable place in her past.

Seeing the poor little man dead had only made it worse.


	5. Chapter 5

The spirit of Halloween was in the air by the following week. Naya never celebrated such a holiday with customs like pumpkin carving, bobbing for apples, eating sweet treats and wearing costumes—especially not in her country; ever. It was simply unheard of. She glanced around, seeing everyone but conjoined twins Bette and Dot participating in festivities. Then came Jimmy, his brown shirt dirty with a simple newsboy cap covering his heavily-gelled brown hair. The albiness' presence caught his eye, and she stared back at him with her violet orbs. He sighed softly, and she spoke the first words she had said all day to anyone.

"Why are you dirty?" she asked. Jimmy looked despondent, but he answered quietly.

"I've been digging Meep's grave all day," he replied.

"He…was like a child," the young albiness said with her soft Slavic intonation.

"They all are," Jimmy replied, taking a few steps forward. "They needed a leader, and I failed them."

"Don't blame yourself," Bette cut in with a frown. "It wasn't your fault."

Naya turned her gaze downward, making her white, full eyelashes noticeable. Dot, the stern twin, looked over at Jimmy and then to everyone celebrating as if Meep's death never happened. She was deeply concerned for the man with deformed hands, and Naya jumped upon hearing her distinct voice.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she called out loudly; all of the carnies looked at the conjoined sisters, and Bette's head turned to look at her sister.

"Dot," she said, trying to calm her down.

"What's wrong with y'all?! Meep is dead! Don't you care?! You're bein' disrespectful. Look how much pain Jimmy's in. This is wrong! We should remember Meep by workin' even harder. Maybe even dedicatin' the show today to his memory!" Dot suggested, feeling terrible as she empathized with Jimmy; he glanced over at her and gave a sad smile.

"The show?" Eve asked, adjusting the pin curls set in her rich brown hair. "It's Halloween!"

"No one performs on Halloween," Ethel said warily—Jimmy was shocked; he hadn't seen her drink for a few years, at least. Why had she suddenly started up again? "Any idiot knows that."

"Huh?" Naya asked with confusion.

"It's just a superstition," Jimmy said, looking at his mother with cognac on the table.

"No, it's not. It's very real," Ethel responded.

"It's true?" Naya asked.

"Yup. Edward Mordrake. 1800s. Aristocrat," Ethel explained, pouring herself more cognac.

"Who?" Naya was confused, narrowing her light violet eyes to the bearded lady as she moved closer to take a seat next to her. Ethel sipped more of her drink and explained.

"Edward Mordrake. He was a nobleman. Heir to all kinds of titles. Could've been a duke or lord or some shit, but it's lost in history." Ethel took another sip. "He was an Englishman of noble birth. He was a poet. A scholar. A musician of rare talent."

"W-What was wrong?" Naya asked. "He was…a performer?"

"He had a face on the back of his head that whispered stuff to him only said in hell," Ethel continued, pouring more cognac. "He tried killin' that part of him. Many ways, too. It wouldn't die, so he went insane. Truth be told, they were only too happy to have the family freak banished from sight. In the crazy house, he wrote poetry and worked on an unfinished opera. Anythin' to keep his mind off the demon whisperings, but he never got any relief. It was tellin' him to do things, commandin' him. One night, Edward escaped the asylum and he ended up where we all do. At the freak show. They billed him as the Two Faced Prince, and he'd show off all the refined skills he'd learned as the scion of one of England's grand families, and then he'd take a bow. Takin' off his hat to show that ugly face on the back of his head."

"He…must have been happy. Was he happy?" Naya asked, fascinated by the story.

"He'd found a home with others like himself. There was no one like Edward. And no, he wasn't happy," Ethel replied, pouring more cognac accompanied by another sip. "One Halloween night, Edward snapped. He murdered every freak in the troupe and he hung himself. Legend has it that even in death, the demon face was smiling."

"Oh," Naya said, biting her lower, full lip. "So…we cannot perform out of respect?"

"No, Naya," Ethel said. "Out of _fear_. If any freak performs on Halloween, they summon the spirit of Edward Mordrake and his demon half-face. Once he appears, he never leaves alone. That whispering face will choose one more freak to take with him back to hell."

Naya was frightened suddenly—a thousand questions seem to run through her mind, the biggest one being the most obvious; what does that mean? Does he kill a performer? Does he kill the one who summons him? Suddenly, her train of thought was interrupted when she heard Jimmy talking to her as she approached the entrance of the great tent.

"What the hell was that?" Jimmy asked.

"Carnie lore." Ethel was missing the point.

"No, ma. The drinking! I thought you stopped!" he exclaimed.

"Well I'm back on it," she answered.

"Why? Was it Dell?" Jimmy assumed. "You've been on edge since he came here."

"You don't know shit! Matter of fact, I'm glad he's here. We need a man around this dump," Ethel replied arrogantly, pointing her finger up at him. "Means you're free to go."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jimmy asked, looking at her with bewilderment. Yes, he wanted to leave the show; yet he was obliged to stay with them.

"Don't give me that look!" she barked. "You're the one itchin' to leave!"

* * *

_Itching to leave_, Jimmy thought that afternoon as he saw a strange car drive up to the grounds, _the nerve_. He was still quite on edge, especially since Meep had been buried just an hour before.

He squinted, putting one of his deformed hands to his brow to block away the sun as he watched the car stop. Out came a man dressed in a gray tweed suit with a brown hat. He had dark hair, spotting on his face, and blue eyes that seemed to glisten in the sun. He helped out what looked to be a young woman wearing a green top, floral skirt, nude nylon hose, and fashionable heeled shoes. He got a better look at her, and noticed she had honey blonde hair curled and topped with a hat that matched her shirt.

"Sorry, we're closed!" he called out.

"I'm not a customer," the young woman said, approaching Jimmy as she removed her sunglasses. "I'm looking for a job." Jimmy shook his head, but the sun was blinding him too much to get a good look at her face.

"Toots, you don't belong here," he contradicted; _she looks normal_, he thought.

"I came all the way from Philadelphia," she said kindly. "I'm Mystic Miss Esmeralda. Call me Maggie. I'm a fortune teller."

Jimmy finally got a good look at her face; she was very attractive, yet not as striking or unique as Naya when he first saw her. Though she lacked the ghostly pallor and unusual eye color of the albiness, she looked very normal, almost too normal. Her hair was honey blonde and styled in curls, and her eyes were a light brown, almost hazel, and they looked like blown glass. Her lipstick was bright red, and her eye makeup was a neutral beige shade with light mascara in her eyelashes. Jimmy chuckled and shook his head.

"A fortune teller, huh?" he asked. "Well, I'll see if Elsa can see you. If not, I don't know."

Elsa was fascinated by the newest arrival, but in order to convince her that she was a genuine psychic, Jimmy had a reading from her himself. In his own mind, she was spot-on with most of the things she had told him or claimed to have seen in her clear, translucent crystal ball. They had gone to Elsa's tent, the young man helping carry her suitcases, where she was waiting for the young woman to finish with Jimmy's brief reading. He came out with a smug smile, looking at Elsa and nodding.

"Well?" the German asked.

"She ain't no gypsy, but she's the real deal," Jimmy claimed. "Go and see for yourself."

"Fine. Then again, I'm not so distracted by a pretty face," Elsa sneered, getting up from her seat and going to the other room of her tent-like dwelling. Maggie had been sitting down with her back to the older German, her mint green sweater noticeable as her hatted head turned to look up at her.

"Take a seat," she said sweetly.

"Every other fortune teller I've come across had a darker complexion," Elsa said, approaching the lounge chair across from the table the crystal ball was set on. "That _is_ what you are, _ja_?"

"I didn't choose the gift," Maggie responded. "The gift chose me."

"Tell me my future, Esmeralda," Elsa smiled. "Tell me what is to come."

It looked as though the young woman were centering her thoughts; the older German woman noticed her roll her eyes in the back of her head as she reached up for the crystal ball set on the small table. However, before doing so, Maggie had gotten a glimpse of an attractive, young blonde woman with coifed hair on an old magazine resting on the table. Once her hands rested on the smooth, polished crystal sphere, she sighed as if to take a deep breath.

"Spirits are like shadows at night, invisible without a guiding light. They only speak if they sense a receptive audience," Maggie explained catatonically. "Open your heart, Elsa. Listen to their words." Elsa seemed to listen as the young woman seemed to sneak glances around the room to help her with her visions as her soft, glassy hazel eyes peered into the crystal sphere.

"I see many dark tidings.," she began. "In the past, you suffered a grave injustice. A terrible wrong. All because of greed and jealousy." Elsa nodded, amazed by the young woman's soothing voice and enchanting eloquence.

"_Ja_," she replied with a sigh.

"I see…a woman…and…" Maggie peered into the ball some more, "music. The woman looks just like you…and…" She closed her eyes with her hands on the top of the crystal ball, "I hear…a roaring ovation…though…" Another glance into the clear ball, "not for you." Elsa grunted with frustration, shaking her head.

"Damn Marlene, she stole my career. That bitch," she muttered under her breath.

"What did you say?" asked the young woman claiming to be a fortune teller.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Elsa smiled. "Continue, please. Tell me more."

"Well…" Maggie sighed, looking into the ball once again, "She's gone, but I can hear another song now…the future. It's your song, Elsa, and it's…it's the most _heartbreaking_ music I've ever heard. They're cheering now. The applause sounds like thunder!" Maggie's soft voice sounded very excited, and it only made Elsa optimistic about her future.

"F-For me?" she asked happily. "Is there still a chance for me?"

"It's never too late," Maggie encouraged. "You're like the aster that blooms in the fall. I see a man standing behind you."

"Who is it?"

"A tall, refined stranger. An impresario," Maggie stated, looking into the ball again.

"_Ja_?"

"Under his guidance, he will make you…a big star," she claimed, continuing the reading.

_Mein gott_, Elsa thought to herself as the reading came to a close. She looked at Maggie's attractive, soft features, from her bright red lipstick to her black eyelashes, to the curls of her medium length honey-colored hair and her stylish, clean-cut appearance. She curiously leaned into Maggie's crystal ball upon seeing the young woman fall onto the floor as if in a trance.

"Oh, Esmeralda," Elsa smiled, seeing the young woman look up at her with a glassy look in her eyes. "You're hired."

* * *

Night came swiftly—after her first dinner with the carnies, Maggie had a desire to call her grandmother, so she said. Jimmy had offered to take her to a phone booth down the way, as the young woman said it was a private matter. Without any suspicions in mind, he took her on his motorcycle.

After washing the dishes and cleaning up, Eve and Paul made their way into the great tent to the sight of Naya warming up on pointe; her old, worn ballet shoes were fastened to her feet, and even though a barre was not present, she used a small table as a substitute as she stretched as if to perform a number had a show been scheduled. Her arms, sleeved in black, looked graceful like a swan's neck as she bent both ways to prepare her body for a strenuous, graceful dance.

"Naya?" Eve called. "What are you doing?" Naya's form, her thin, paper-white legs pointing out sveltely, was disturbed as she turned to face them, starting over as she gave her answer.

"Stretching," she said with her soft Slavic accent. "For practicing."

"Even that is risky business," Paul said with uncertainty. "You don't know what could summon Edward Mordrake." Naya simply shrugged.

Elsa, who had gotten all dressed and ready as if a show were to be performed, had entered the great tent and made her way majestically to the stage. On her form was a silken, raven black gown; a light-colored feather boa was over her shoulders, draped like a curtain and gaudy as all hell. Naya took a glance at her, taking her pale hand away from the table she had used to stretch. The German's voice sounded booming and intimidating, yet authoritative at the same time.

"I am the only myth around here. She's not concerned about Mordrake," Elsa chided, slinking her way toward the stage.

"We're only trying to tell—" Eve was cut off.

"It's all superstition," Elsa interrupted; she turned her hazel eyes to Naya, piercing her like a needle from an injection. "Off you go."

"Huh?" Naya was confused; _the spirit cannot be real_, she thought to herself.

"A clairvoyant has sworn to me that a very important gentleman will be arriving very soon to reinvigorate my career," the German explained excitedly. "So I must rehearse some new material." Naya gulped silently and gathered her thoughts, breathing gently with an assertive tone of voice.

"Can I please finish?" the albiness asked. "I will not be very long. You can practice as soon as I'm all done. I promise."

"_Nein_," Elsa said; the sound of her German prompted Naya to dart her eyes at her, her blind eye twitching. "You _really_ think a bit of applause for a living ghost will get a rise from the audience?"

"Well, I would not expect that, honestly," Naya replied. "I…well, if I remember right, it says that…I was the new star on the banner." Elsa hated what she was hearing, and her voice turned to a harsh bark, like a mad dog with rabies attacking a child.

"How dare you?!" the German hissed, walking toward the steps leading up to the stage. "I've been a star for decades!" She made sure she was eye-to-eye with the albiness before going for the throat with the blade of the sharp tongue. "You are nothing but an albino _freak_! Silent at all times, tip-toeing on the stage with a veil on your face as if you were the _ugliest _girl on the face of the earth!" Naya bit her lower lip, feeling a tear form in her twitching blind eye. "Go back to your tent, and stay there! Or I'll drag you to the swamp and leave you there!"

Naya shook her head and walked off the stage and toward the main entrance. Once she got to the tent's large flaps, she turned her moon-white body around and looked back at Elsa—the tent was dead silent.

"Do your worst to me," she said calmly. "It will _never_ break my spirit."

As the albiness left with those words haunting Elsa's mind, she got even angrier. She looked down at Eve and Paul, who stood there silently with bland, cross stances. The German's harsh tongue was able to break the awkward silence very quickly.

"Well?!" she yelled. "Do you value your jobs around here?!" She turned to Eve. "Walk those legs up to the piano! Now!"

Eve complied and did as told—who knows what Elsa would've done had she stayed in her place. Paul walked up to his drum set and, with his short arms, he grabbed the sticks and fiddled with them a bit before the music began; Eve's piano skills were unparalleled to any of the other carnies, and when the main measure came, Elsa was prompted to walk to the microphone and sing:

"_In the land of gods and monsters,  
I was an angel.  
Living in the garden of evil,  
Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed.  
Shining like a fiery beacon,  
You got that medicine I need  
Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.  
Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.  
Me and God we don't get along, so now I sing…_"

Outside the great tent, a strange, green fog began to emerge from the humid mist created by the warm, night weather. Soon, the image of a tall man with striking features made its way toward the great tent. He wore a long, cape-like coat over a formal suit from his own time; a raven top hat topped his neatly groomed black hair; he had bushy eyebrows and an even bushier exhibition of facial hair on the sides of his jaw. In his ehite gloved hands, he held a cane topped with a pewter skull. When Elsa glanced over at the entrance, she saw the image of the man and nearly gasped. He's the one, she thought, continuing the verse where she left off:

"_If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?  
You tell me life isn't that hard.  
No one's gonna take my soul away,  
I'm living like Jim Morrison.  
Headed towards a messed up holiday.  
Motel, sprees, sprees, and I'm singing,  
Oh yeah, give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want.  
It's innocence lost.  
Innocence lost._"

Elsa took a moment to see the figure—as she bowed ceremoniously, she looked up to see that the man had disappeared. The spotlight went out above her head.

* * *

Naya just sat there on her cot, wishing and wondering. Well, at least until terrible memories came back.

_"__Just a little drop. You won't feel a thing, _leiben_."_

_Leiben_—Elsa had used that word with her. Naya associated it with something more sinister. She remembered herself screaming—there had been many screams, perhaps totaling a thousand. She had heard many in her relatively short lifetime, even the ones that escaped her own throat. She put her hands to her ears, but it did nothing to block out the terrifying sounds; the tear that had gone back into her tear duct when Elsa yelled at her fell down her cheek. She dodged every sob that tried to make its way from her heart, up her windpipe, and out her full, pinkish lips.

She suddenly glanced down at the floor to see a strange, green smoke fuming through the flaps of her tent's entrance. Naya brought her feet up on her cot and began to panic with fear. Her lower lip trembled as the form of a tall, refined man wearing a cape-like coat over an elegant suit, a top hat over his neat dark hair, his penetrating dark eyes peering down at her in the same ghostly manner hers had naturally done, and the pewter skull on the top of his black wooden cane. She was reluctant to speak, but she was struck silent with the images of pale, white, ghostly figures—one was a fat lady with her throat slit, blood still dripping down from the deep wound; the second was a werewold-looking man with a thick bush covering his large, broad face, his eyes staring deathly into the albiness.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" Naya's screaming was shrill and bloodcurdling, and the image of the man remained. The others had gone away; the albiness' face was buried in her hands.

"My companions startled you. My sincerest apologies." Naya gradually and slowly took her hands away from her face to see the figure politely tip the brim of his hat at her. "A good All Hallow's Eve to you, my child. Edward Mordrake, at your service."

"Y-You?" Naya asked frantically. "B-But I did not…call to you!"

"It matters not who summoned us., only that we have been summoned," Mordrake replied cordially. "And now, sadly, we are here and cannot leave this place until we have added to our coterie of freakish companions." Naya shook her head and pointed to the entrance flaps of her tent, more tears rolling down her pale, alabaster face and soaking her white lashes.

"Please! Go!" she cried. "I did nothing to hurt anyone! I cannot be…a victim…no! Leave!"

"My child, you did not cause harm to anybody," Mordrake answered, sounding polite and assertive. "It is not in my heart to make you or anyone else a victim, my good woman.  
But the visage is unrelenting. I am its slave." Suddenly, Naya jumped upon hearing the man turn his head slightly and yell. "Silence! We have intruded upon this young lady uninvited! Show some courtesy!" He turned his piercing dark eyes back to the albiness, whose eyes were pleading innocently.

"P-Please! Don't take me!" she begged. "I belong on _here_. This earth."

"Would that it were in my power to grant reprieve, but if the vile countenance a-judges you a pure freak, corrupted of flesh, befouled of soul, there can be no petition." Mordrake turned his head again and yelled once more. "Yes! You are vile! Vile and malevolent!" He turned his gaze back to Naya. "I am sorry."

"Is that…your _other_…face?" she asked.

"Yes, indeed it is," Mordrake replied sadly, shaking his head. "There are questions which must be asked, as indelicate as they may be. You must be candid and truthful. If you lie, it will know. You were not always in such a degraded state as this. You have fallen."

"What do you want from me, mister?" Naya asked. "I have nothing to give you."

"You needn't give me anything," Mordrake said, walking closer to Naya on her cot. "Just the truth, the story of your fall. The demon needs to feed off of your shortcomings, your pain, your grief, your misery…"

"No…no, no, no" Naya protested. "_Please_ leave me to be alone?"

"I cannot do that, my child," Mordrake answered. "You must. It will not be so difficult." That is when he took a seat on the folding chair put in the tent for her—Naya calmed down and sighed.

"Will you tell anyone?" she asked.

"No," Mordrake promised. "You have my word."

**A/N:**

**Keri, here! I wanted to thank you all for the positive feedback on this story and for reading! It means so much that you guys love my writing :3 Shoutouts to **InTheWrongEra**, **Weezy815**, **fairydaisy777**, **Raging Raven**, **alicesmartt13**, **FloraTheCake**, and two mystery Guests for their reviews ****J**

**Things are about to get very interesting, so stay tuned for the new chapter! There won't be much canon after this, but yeah, you get the picture.**

**Please leave ****Reviews****, ****Follow ****and ****Favorite****!**

**Thank you and happy reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

NOTE: _This chapter is mostly written in first person, as it is _Naya _speaking._

**WARNING:** _May contain disturbing or triggering content. Discretion is advised._

* * *

_"__What is your name, my child?" Mordrake asked the albiness._

My name is Naya Stolinski.

_"__But is that the name you were given by your parents?" he asked her curiously. Naya took a weary sigh._

No.

_"__Well?" Mordrake was patient—he could tell she was scared of his presence, and he tried to calm her down with subtle cues as she opened up._

My real name was Katyenka Dmitrievna Stolichnaya.

_Mordrake listened as Naya began her story; she stared down at her pale hands with bluish fingertips and short, bitten nails._

I was born in Russia. February 17, 1930. My family lived in Stalingrad. We were very poor. At least now, I can be open and say that my country's government was not very good to its people. Stalin is still ruling that land and all of the places it has been ruling for some time now.

_Naya took a weary sigh and continued._

I was the middle child of five siblings; two brothers and two sisters. We all lived in a one-room house; it was very small. My parents both worked their fingers to the bone just to support us as a family. My mother made suits for the Soviet soldiers. My father jumped from job to job; I remember he was a factory worker once. They both did not make a lot of money, and neither of them could be out sick. We would starve if that happened. My oldest brother eventually found a job, but even that was not enough.

Winters were harsh—we were lucky to have enough wood to build a fire. My _babushka_ often did that. She lived with us. I was very close with her, and I have fond memories. We used to sing a song together; it was a beautiful song. It still plays in my head from time to time. I remember she called me "_lebedska_". She called me a swan because of my hair and skin. I'm very white; my family all had brown or black hair and normal skin. She also encouraged me to dance. That is how I began ballet. We were very poor, but I remember one Christmas, my _babushka_ gave me my first pair of dance shoes. We were forbidden to celebrate holidays; the government didn't allow it. It was my only gift that year, but I loved it so.

_Mordrake turned his head slightly—there was a faint whispering, and Naya could hear it clearly._

What is it saying to you?

_"__It tells me you had a darker turn in your life. You were young," Mordrake replied._

I told you my past.

_"__The demon says otherwise. Tell me what happened to your family. I insist." Naya sighed and nodded, looking down at her sleeved arm—she could see the digits forever tattooed into her pale, smooth flesh._

It was 1942. I was twelve. Stalingrad was under attack. The Germans had come and destroyed the city. Hitler broke the peace agreement between my country and Germany—it was terrible. We lost our home and everything we had. People had died, including soldiers from both sides. It wasn't until I came here that I learned that the Soviet Union had the upper hand and, _she raised her two fingers and made a motion similar to quotation marks_, "won". Regular people who were not soldiers died by the thousands—there were too many count. I remember running down the road with my family. My mother was crying. We had lost everything; a bomb went off near our home. The weather was bearable, as it was August. If it were winter, we surely would have died.

We did not get far.

_"__How unfortunate," Mordrake said, a morose look on his face. "But…you did not get far in your escape from the terror of war?"_

No. We were captured.

German soldiers had stopped us. My father and older brother tried to fight them off. Even I tried to. My father almost was unconscious from a blow to the head by the butt of a Nazi gun. I was so afraid. I thought we were going to be shot down. Instead, we were rounded up like cows and put in big, uh, box cars on a train. It looked like the Nazis had planned to take us somewhere. We were crammed. No room to breathe. Filthy. _She shook her head, sniffling slightly_. I can remember three box cars full of Soviet families and soldiers. My family was one of those. Captured soldiers were wounded. One had died in our box car. The odor was overpowering when it finally stopped.

_"__What did you see when the boxcar stopped?" Mordrake asked, straightening his back ceremoniously. Naya's tone became frantic with fear._

I…I don't know.

_"__You must remember. It happened to you. What did you see, my child?" Naya's tears came down her face, panicking from the dreadful, repressed memories until the image became clear._

A…a gate! Arbeit macht frei! Arbeit macht frei! Work sets you free! It did no such thing for me!

_"__Calm yourself, my child!" Mordrake boomed authoritatively; he still sounded willing to listen to her story. "Where did the gate lead to?" Naya took a sigh that sounded more like a sob._

Auschwitz.

It was prison. We were taken out of the boxcars. The dead were gathered up and buried in…these _huge_ holes in the ground. I was so afraid. I held onto the sweaty sleeves of my mother and _babushka_ for dear life. There seemed to be a line of groups of people. I looked in the distance and saw a uniformed man; tall, physically fit, eyes like knives. I remember his name—Commandant Rudolf Höss.

_Naya fell silent for a moment before continuing; there were tears welling in her intense violet eyes._

My family parted from each other.

"Men there! Women and children over there!"

Then he looked at my _babushka_. I held onto her sleeve for dear life.

"You are going to that special spot over there." _Naya sighed sadly, starting to cry_.

That was the last time I saw her. She was sent to be gassed. She was too old to work. A few Germans came up to my mother, sisters and I. I saw him look at the more beautiful of us—her name was…Oksana. _Naya sniffled, remembering the face of her sister as she remembered it. Mordrake listened attentively._

She was very beautiful, older than me by two years. Rich auburn hair, smooth skin, starry eyes, pink, soft lips…it disturbed me how the soldier looked at her, as she was fourteen. He had to have been thirty, the most. I'll never forget what he said to her—it was disgusting.

"You are beautiful, _leiben_," I heard him say. "I would leave my wife to take you to bed."

Another soldier came to me with the…scariest smile on his face. He talked to me, too. I was afraid when he held my face in one of his huge hands. He looked younger than the other one.

"What do we have here?" he asked. "The _fuehrer_ would be proud. Too bad you are Ruski scum." He looked at my sisters, little brother and mother. "You are all fit for work. Over there! _Schnell_!"

_"__How terrible," Mordrake whispered despondently, shaking his head._

I know…_Naya was impatiently frantic, nearly sobbing at this point_. Please, I do not want to speak of this anymore.

_"__But the demon needs to hear more," Mordrake ordered calmly. "Please, my child." Naya sighed and nodded, continuing._

A woman yelled at us. We had our hairs cut close to our heads. We were bald. We were stripped of our clothing. We were thrown in the showers naked. I was given a dirtied green dress. Smelled of…death. _Naya gagged slightly_. I can still smell it. Then…we were taken to a room.

_Naya took a tearful, deep breath as she closed her eyes, rolling up her black sleeve to reveal the tattoo embedded in her pale, moon-white skin. The ink was black as night and clearly obvious—Mordrake gasped at the sight, putting a gloved hand to his face._

That is where this comes from.

_The tattoo read: AU-9741._

AU meant I was a Soviet captive. My sisters and mother stayed with the other women and children in the barracks. We were crammed like animals; Jews, Poles, Slavs like my family and I, Roma, homosexuals…the "undesirables". It smelled of…urine…feces…vomit…death. We were surrounded by death. Prisoners became walking skeletons. Starvation and not good eating. We weren't given a lot of food; it was no different from my home in Russia, but this was also much worse.

Every morning passed; every morning I prayed; every morning was a struggle just to get up. _Naya shook her head and bit her lip_. Roll call was brutal; we stood for four hours straight. We were counted and recounted. Even the dead and dying were present. The dead were held up by two prisoners at a time until it was over. We didn't just work our fingers to the bone—we worked them _through_ the bone. No rest was allowed. We also could not relieve ourselves unless we were told to. It was not private, either—soldiers measured how long it took for us to use the latrines.

_"__Oh, dear," Mordrake sighed, a frown on his face. He could feel the other face frowning behind his head as well. Naya remained silent, but Mordrake wanted to hear more._

_"__Go on."_

It was in November of that year that my youngest brother, Nikolai, was beaten to death.

_"__How old was he?"_

Only seven. Those…fascist pigs beat him to death. _Naya whimpered tearfully_. He was thrown into the crematorium like a ragdoll. He was so young. All he wanted was bread. _She sniffled, tears rolling down her face_. He was starving…a little walking skeleton. He became so…skinny in such a short period. Months. _Naya sobbed, wiping her tears away so she could continue even though she dreaded it with a passion._

We all wept for him. It was as though my family members died off every few months. The next to go…was my mother. I remember waking up in February of the following year—she was cold, lifeless, laying there in the crammed barracks with my sisters and I.

"Mama. Wake up." If she had not woken up, she would've been punished. _Naya shook her head_. Oksana cried her eyes out—she felt her pulse. We hadn't eaten in a while. We were not given any new rations of bread because prisoners hoarded them under the mattresses. Starvation took her from us; from me.

Even my father and oldest brother met their ends; they were together. They attempted an escape. They were caught. Naya closed her eyes and cried again. We were forced to watch them die. They were hung on the gallows. I remember my father looked over at me. He recognized me, as I was bald. Still white. He mouthed words at me—I do not remember what he said. Before I knew it, they were suspended in the air with the rope to catch them. _Naya wiped her blind eye as it twitched uncontrollably_.

After that, it was only my sisters and I—Oksana and Evgeniya. Evgeniya was ten. We spent our days doing hard labor. Slave labor. Before we knew it, it was winter—disease had spread around the barracks. Oksana and I were the only ones not ill, but we had become walking skeletons like the rest of them. Evgeniya died that December. She had the most violent cough; she wheezed like a broken flute. The soldiers refused to treat her. Any of the dead were thrown in the crematorium. Naya shook her head and sobbed slightly.

_"__And your sister," Mordrake wondered, "was she next to pass on?" She nodded._

Yes.

_"__Tell me. The demon wishes to know," he ordered assertively._

I heard a scream; several, in fact. I recognized it. It was in one of the sheds holding shovels and equipment. I snuck my way in—I see nothing but my beautiful sister, Oksana, screaming underneath the same soldier who had said that to her when we first came. I was afraid; part of me wanted to run, but I loved my sister. My beautiful sister. Too beautiful to suffer. I put my life at risk for the last of my family. I shouted in my tongue.

"Hey! Get off my sister,_sookin syn_!" That caught his attention, and he looked back at me. He seemed to move forward very hard; my sister screamed out.

"Help! Help!" I heard her cries and felt my anger boil within.

The man barked in German at me, but I stepped in. As I went closer, I saw my sister's clothing had been cut all the way down the middle—that fascist pig could see her entirely nude. I was a walking skeleton, but a strong one; all that hard labor had only strengthened me. I tackled the soldier, I didn't expect him to be afraid. I punched him so hard his nose broke. Once he was conscious again, he ran off and I saw my crying older sister and ran to her. I cried for myself as much as her. I tried to help her cover up, but I saw some blood on her clothing and hugged her. It was October—still quite cold.

"You could have been killed!" her voice was scared.

"You are my sister," I answered, looking into her starry eyes. "If I am to be killed, remember me for how I lived. You will be the one to live, Oksana. Look at me. I'm just an albino. No one would want me as a wife. No child wants me as their mother. I am worthless."

_"__But you are far from worthless. To say so is far from the truth," Mordrake said, looking at the crying albiness as she shared her story. "You are alive. You were not killed."_

I almost was. They took Oksana for…not giving into the soldier. _Naya sighed sadly, whining as she continued to cry_. It was my fault. I couldn't mind my own business! _She wailed and sobbed_. I lost my sister…my poor, beautiful sister. _She tried to take a breath, but she sobbed too heavily to speak clearly, so she took another moment of silence_. She was gassed. I was close to death myself. I was a walking skeleton before; when I lost Oksana, I was just a ghost. A ghost.

I was sent to the whipping block—I was partially stripped and tied face down on a table, bent over. My back all exposed. I can still remember those horrible voices! Oh dear God! _Naya covered her face with her hands and sobbed, panicking and screaming as though the events she was describing actually were happening still._

"Thirty lashes for this piece of Ruski scum," the commandant ordered as I was strapped down. I was scared—thirty lashes with a bull whip. I was made to count in German what each lash was. I messed up three times. The first time, I messed up seven. Oh my god, I can still hear myself counting! AHH!

"_Eins, zwei, drei, vier, funf, sechs….s-syem_…"

"What was that?!" The soldier was screaming at me! My back was on fire! "Start over! She messed up seven!"

"_Nyet_! _Nyet_!" I was screaming! Oh god! _Naya covered her ears and curled up into a fetal position on her cot._ MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! FIFTY SIX LASHES! THEY NEARLY KILLED ME!

_"__My child!" Mordrake exclaimed as he rushed to her cot and tried to reach his cold, transparent gloved hands to her to make her stop her post-traumatic episode. "Please! There is no one torturing you now! You are safe here! In this tent" Naya suddenly stopped her episode involuntarily, but remained in the position before turning on her back to look up into the face of the old freak ghost._

I fainted. I lost so much blood. I remember waking up strapped to a bed. A man was standing above me, pulling open my eyes with his gloved fingers. I was too confused to think anymore. I realized after the fact…I was being experimented on.

"This will change your eye color," the doctor had said. "Just a little drop. I developed this formula. Hopefully, we can make you a part of our master race."

"_Nyet_!" I was screaming again… _Naya pressed the base of her palms into her eyes and shook her head, remembering and explaining frantically._

"Just a little drop. You won't feel a thing, _leiben_."

_Naya took her hands away from her eyes, her blind eye twitching as she looked up at the ghost, sitting back up as she was before._

The Angel of Death was also my Angel of Life. I paid to live. I paid the price. That drop made me blind in one eye. It was only this eye, _Naya pointed at her twitching right eye_, he put the drop into. I was no good after. I had to fake it. I had to live. I lost my family, but I had the will to live. I even had the will to live even as they put me in a dark cell. They only gave me three rations of water and one ration of bread a week. Not more. I thought I was really going to die. I waited for a miracle—I was in there until the liberation.

_"__Liberation?" Mordrake asked._

Yes. January 27, 1945. We were set free. I was close to death, again.

I was taken to a hospital. I stayed there for three months. I couldn't eat a good amount of food even though I had starved in that dark cell and as a prisoner with the others. I threw up my first dinner in three years—it was pork, potatoes, and carrots. I threw it all up. I was very ill. The lashes on my back were infected from months before. I was not used to eating anymore. When I finally began to eat, I started to gain weight. I was no longer a skeleton, if you will. I was…still a ghost. _Naya sounded distant_. Yes. A ghost. My family was all dead. I was nearly dead. I just…was a ghost.

I was transported to a displaced persons facility. I remained there until I was able to be normal again. Yet I had nightmares every night. I was…what is the word…traumatized. I still have traumatization, too. It happens out of no where. Whenever I hear…that lady who runs this show…she is German. Whenever I hear her, it all comes back to me. Naya sighed. I should never have come here.

_"__Yet you seem well, now," Mordrake replied._

It may seem it, but I am not fine. I came here in 1946. I snuck onto a ship. I refused to go back to Russia. Poland was in the process of being annexed; no way I was staying there. Germany—_nyet_. I would have gone to England, but it was torn up badly. The Germans attacked them, too.

I changed my name to Naya—I shortened my family name. Since first coming here, I have pretended to be Polish. I made my Russian surname sound Polish. These Americans… _Naya stood up and paced aforth_ …they're, what's the word….uh…ignorant. The others cannot know I am Russian. Too great of a risk. I am not a communist. I was raised in a…communist state, but… _She stopped pacing_ …no one can know the truth about me. I don't hate America. It is much better than where I have been in my whole life. I am content. I have food. I have clothing. I have not much, but…I am content.

_She looked at Mordrake and sighed_. I am person. No more—no less.

I began working in New York. Bronx, is the name I believe. I worked a sewing machine. I lived in a shelter. I saved every penny and worked long hours. I had bad pay. Fifty cents an hour. I would make five dollars in one day. I always worked. Never took a day of rest. My English was not very good. My boss said I needed to learn it. When I did, it only became clear that the other workers insulted my whiteness.

"Ghost-Face!"

"Albino-Bitch!"

"She's scarin' me, boss! She looks like a sack o'flour!"

_Mordrake turned his head sideways; the face on the back of his head was whispering. Naya, however, had a moment of self-realization and looked up at him as he began to speak._

_"__Thank you for your pains, my child," he said, handing her a clean, white kerchief to wipe her tears. As she did so, she sighed and nodded._

"Voz'mi menya s soboy," _she begged_. "Ya gotov. U menya net voli ne ostalos' zhit' . Pozhaluysta ... voz'mi menya s soboy . Pozhaluysta?"

"_My child," Mordrake said, leaning down to her. "The demon had tears in his eyes, yet it was not enough to make him weep. You will be spared by me. You have a whole life ahead of you. You came here for a second chance at life. I refuse to take that life."_

_Naya watched him and the green fog disappear into the night—she took a relieving sigh. The tears had dried up._

**A/N:**

**So…there you have it. Naya's past is officially revealed! I hope this wasn't too troubling to read. Just writing it made me cry at points.**

**As for the Russian Naya speaks, I did not use Cyrillic—one, I cannot read it. Second, Latin letters are easier for me because I am a native English speaker. At the end, she's basically asking him to take her with him and that she has no will to live anymore. Of course he refuses ;-)**

**Thank you again for the reviews and favorites. Please continue to ****Review****, ****Favorite** **and ****Follow****! Also, if you have ideas, do share!**

**Thanks and happy reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Mordrake had disappeared to Paul's trailer after the demon fed of Naya's dark past, sitting before the man with pitifully small arms as he asked him to reveal to him his darkest moments.

"That's easy, isn't it? I was born, as all men must be. Only I weren't like all other men. In our street, that was a problem. Lads learned early on how to scrap. Only I couldn't get close enough to scrap back, not with these."

Paul raised his seal-like appendages and continued.

"There can be no shame with you. No shame," Mordrake responded with a nod.

"My whole life is shame. My only escape was in the dark. I could lose myself in it. There I was transported. I wanted nothing more than to come to this land of opulence and glamour, but when I arrived, it was the depression. The country's and mine." Paul sighed sadly, feeling tears form in the corners of his light, clear blue eyes. "I was tired of the streets. Tired of being laughed at, of being attacked, of being called "Seal Boy."' Paul began to cry at that moment as he continued. "The world hated me, but no more than I hated myself. They wanted a monster? I decided to give them one. I could never make the world love me. Maybe I could make it fear me. I tattooed my entire body."

"Why not the face?" Mordrake asked.

"I thought about it," Paul wept. "At the last minute, I chickened out."

"Why?" Mordrake questioned.

"Because I have a handsome face," the man with small arms sobbed, sniffling as tears fell from his eyes. "I have the face of a pretty lad. Can you imagine this mug on a normal body? I could've ruled the world."

There an indistinct whisper from the face on the back of the ghost's head—Modrake seemed to speak through it hauntingly.

"You are not the one."

* * *

Suzy was next—upon seeing the ghost of Mordrake, she waddled out of bed and fell on the floor, almost hitting her head against her dresser. Having no legs was especially hard for her to move and try to escape.

"Poor freakish thing, there is no escape," the ghost boomed. "Not until all questions have been answered. By you, and by all upon whom I would call, for I have been summoned to this place. Driven, like Percival, to find a thing most rare, though the grail I seek is one of flesh. Corrupted. Diseased. Perfect in its monstrous imperfection. Before this night is through, I will find my grail. One more pure freak to add to our unhappy number. Now tell me, dear one, how did you come to be here?"

"I committed a sin," Suzy said after a frightened gasp.

"Tell me your sin. Let the demon feed off your misery," Mordrake ordered.

"The doctors took my legs when I was two years old, owing to a spinal condition. After that, my parents lost faith. They left me in a basket on the doorstep of the children's home. I never saw them again," the legless woman explained, biting her lower lip as it became dry with nervousness.

"A sad story, but common. You don't amuse me," Mordrake answered. "Lay down your greatest sin."

"After the children's home, I ended up on the streets. There was no work for someone like me. Hell, there was no work for anyone at that time. Many of the others had legs. I happened to be near one of them. I stabbed him in the back of the thigh. It was jealousy. Even hate. He didn't deserve it. And I guess I hit an artery. I didn't think of those legs as part of him, but just the things that I would never have."

"He died?"

"Yes."

"He inspired you to perform?"

"He sure did, sir." Suzy's story was full of truth.

There was the same whispering from the face on the back of Mordrake's head.

"You are not the one, my dear lady."

He disappeared.

* * *

Ethel was in her caravan; it was dark, and she could not sleep. What the doctor had told her was grave news. She was only given six months to a year just days before after being diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. All that drinking had taken a toll on her aging body. Upon seeing Mordrake, she gasped and tried to escape to no avail; the ghost of a freak previously taken had blocked her and frightened her away from the doorway. It took some convincing to get the bearded lady to sit down and calm down, but Mordrake sat across from her on the plush lounge sofa.

"You can't take me with you. There's so much I have left to do, and my time is short as it is," she had told him.

"I cannot leave until you feed the demon your greatest pain," Mordrake said, listening attentively. "You have fallen, my good woman."

"It's true. I have fallen. More than once," she told the ghost. "This backwater ain't the worst of it. I had an act once. Slick as anything in vaudeville. I'd surround myself with the prettiest girls I could find, and then I'd dare the audience to look at anything but me. They loved me for it. I was the biggest thing to come out of Baltimore since Wallis Simpson." She took a moment and remembered, smiling nostalgically. "Now, she landed herself a monarch. I ended up with something else—Dell. I think maybe he really…he really _did_ love me at first. I know I was crazy about him. He became my manager, put all kinds of ideas in my head, told me I shouldn't be doing popular tunes and playing for laughs. He said rich folks don't pay for low comedy. They want culture and art. He convinced me to leave the three-ring when the show went to Paris. He'd manage me exclusive and we'd make a million. Me as the bearded Bernhardt. I was pitiful when reciting the classics. It was a failure. Nobody wanted to see some hairy broad reciting the classics. They laughed all right. This time I wasn't in on the joke. I _was _the joke."

"How dreadful for you," Mordrake sympathized. He turned his head slightly and there was a indistinguishable whisper that even Ethel could hear—she grew nervous.

"What's it saying?" she asked.

"It says you hide a deeper pain," Mordrake stated. "When you returned to the States, what happened?" Ethel sighed sadly, reluctant to answer the ghost—yet she had to, which she knew very well.

"We were penniless. I was carryin' Dell's child. We couldn't find carnie work, and I couldn't do my act. Not in that condition. So, Dell arranged a different kind of command performance…" Ethel wept softly, tears coming from her blue eyes as her lips pursed into a tight frown. "Dell suggested I make a spectacle…w-when I gave birth to my boy. I was humiliated. Paid admission to see…" She sobbed. "…a freak baby, he called it. Peanuts were bein' sold. Even two bit to hold my baby." She lookef up at the ceiling of her caravan and took a moment of tears to console herself. "How could I have done that to him? He's never known anythin' but exploitation right from the start. I cursed my own child."

Mordrake reached in his coat pocket for a clean, white handkerchief and he held it out to wipe the tears of the bearded lady. She took a breath and looked up at him.

"Thank you for your pains, my dear woman," he said. "I apologize that you had to relive any of this."

"I relive it everyday," Ethel replied with a tearful nod. "I'm ready. Take me to hell with you. I deserve it."

"No, my dear woman," he replied politely. "You are not the one."

* * *

Elsa came next—Mordrake had to tear down her sun-sized ego by telling her of her "delusional ignorance" before his spectral companions held her to her large bed and tore off her prosthetic legs. The German was humiliated, finally feeling vulnerable for the first time in years. Mordrake had cupped her aged face in his hand, looking down into her hazel eyes.

"There is nothing more craven than a freak like yourself. Someone who would pretend to be the benevolent zookeeper, but she is nothing but a pernicious, diseased animal herself. Now tell me all about your darkest hour."

It is then that Elsa opened up about her life in Germany; every disturbing, juicy detail.

"Berlin, 1932," she began. "It was during the Weimar Republic. It was said you could get the blow job of your life for an American nickel. It was sexual chaos. All of the pain and humiliation of Germany's surrender, the anger…" Elsa took a breath, taking a cigarette from the elaborate pewter holder and lighting it, taking a drag. "Before there was Hitler to channel it into another war, the citizens of Germany expressed their misery with their cocks. Any deviance you could imagine, you could have. Animals, scat, amputees, hunchbacks…in the darkest corner of it all, I found myself."

Mordrake listened, disturbed by the description of Elsa's past in the brothel.

"I was unable to find work on the stage, starving. Even in_that_ world, I was a star. I was a minette, a French cat. I worked only at the top hotels, but I wasn't like the rest of those whores. I never let my clients touch me, let alone put their filth inside of me. I gained a reputation for being the one you went to when you were looking for something creative. No one puts on a show better than I do. I once made a client sit on a toilet seat with nails. He loved every minute of the pain." Elsa took a long drag from her cigarette. "And in time, I began to attract more clients and an audience. I called them the Watchers. I never knew their names, but they paid well, and never in marks. You trade away your humanity trick by trick. In the end, I wasn't Elsa. I was nothing. A ghost, like you."

Mordrake seemed puzzled—"_there is something she is not telling you"_, the demon whispered in his ear.

"I came all this way to hear your story," he said.

"I just told you," Elsa retorted.

"No…I do not mean that," Mordrake sighed. "Tell me about your legs."

Elsa sighed, shaking her head.

"Fine," she began. "My ambition was my downfall. The Watchers made blue movies, and I was their top seller. They said I made men ejaculate gold, but this one was different. There was no costar. Usually there was a boy or girl, a streetwalker or runaway. But there was just me, and I'd been drugged. Enough to be powerless but not enough to forget. Not enough to not understand. Not enough to dull the pain…" She took a long, miserable drag from her cigarette. "They sawed off my legs. Strapped me to a bed. Snuff films, they call them. They told me I was one of the lucky ones. They just left me there to die."

"Who saved you?" the ghost asked as Elsa took a shuddering breath, a tear in her eyes.

"The soldier boy," she answered sadly. "He fell in love with his whore. He followed me everywhere…" She sniffled, wiping her heavily made-up eye… "He rushed in the minute they left. I will never forgive him for it. They passed the film around Berlin, Munich. I hear a copy even made it to Vienna. I was a star, but my career was over. It was all over for me." Elsa began to sob, feeling her heartbreak at the images she was reliving in her mind. "I had the most beautiful legs!"

The face of the demon haunting the back of Mordrake's head began to speak; it sounded satanic, unearthily evil—"_she is the one_!" Elsa heard him and fell to her knees, where her prosthetics attached.

"Yes. I am the one! Take me, please! I know now. I can't deny it. Please!" the German woman begged frantically, clasping her hands in front of her before grabbing the cold black cape-like coat of Mordrake. "There is nothing left for me! It's all over!"

"Are you certain you are ready?" he asked, drawing a clean, fightening silver dagger from his person. Elsa nodded rapidly, crying fearfully.

"I am ready! Yes! Please! Take me! TAKE ME!" She had begun to scream. "What are you waiting for?! I am the one!" She calmed down for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Take me."

The faint sound of a xylophone began to play in the distance—Mordrake put his dagger back into its sheath and stared off into space.

"I hear music," he said.

He disappeared, much to Elsa's shock.

* * *

The following morning, fear had swept across the grounds of the freak show. The freaks were out, having breakfast, listening to the news on the radio, or playing card games, and all the while, Naya had woken up from a deep, peaceful sleep. Her platinum-colored eyelashes seemed to be stuck together from the tears she had cried the night before. She looked at the gathering ceiling of her tent and sighed before freshening up and getting dressed in fresh, black clothing. She walked out of the tent, having purposely forgotten her wide-brimmed hat, and she walked out into the faint morning sunlight. It was not enough to give her a headache or make her feel uncomfortable, though. She squinted slightly, seeing a motorcycle with two familiar figures riding on it with her good eye.

"Curfew's lifted!" Naya immediately recognized it as Jimmy's voice. Elsa approached them sternly, aggravated with their absence.

"Where the hell have you two been?!" she shouted.

"They caught the killer," Jimmy explained. "Curfew was lifted."

"You mean _you_ caught the killer," Maggie, who was riding on the back of the motorcycle, said to Jimmy. She turned her gaze to Elsa. "He caught the killer. He saved the kids. He saved everybody!"

Suddenly, Maggie got off the motorcycle and stood next to Jimmy, whose hands were still on the handles. Everyone, especially Elsa, witnessed her leaned down slowly and plant a kiss on his cheek. Jimmy blushed slightly, sighing as the charming woman walked off—the German woman crossed her arms over her chest and smiled.

"She has cast her spell," she grinned. "She's not the only one. The camp had a visitor last night." Jimmy unmounted his motorcycle and put the kickstand down to keep it in place.

"Edward Mordrake," he said, his deep voice sounding like a groan.

"H-He came to you, too?" Paul asked, lightly flapping his short arms in front of him.

"Not to me," the handsome man with deformed hands replied. "He claimed his freak, though."

Elsa gasped with intense worry as she saw a massive group of people approaching the grounds—women and men, children and teens, rich and poor, old and young, black and white—they all seemed to come to the grounds on foot. Some even held things in their hands, but the carnies could not distinguish what they were. When they finally came, they didn't look very menacing, but Elsa was still cautious. _They've finally come to run us out_, she thought as an older gentleman, backed by his young daughter and wife, approached the carnies.

"You Jimmy?" he asked, looking at the charming man with excessively-gelled hair.

"What do you and the rest of this mob want?" Jimmy asked anxiously.

"We wanted to thank you," the older gentleman smiled. "You saved our son. You saved our town. I want to shake your hand."

_Wow_, he thought as he saw him extending his hand to him for a kind, friendly gesture. Jimmy looked down—no one had ever been this nice to him before. His hands were his most distinguishing feature even though he could pass as normal. He nodded and shook the man's hand. Not a wince, not a cower, not a complaint about his fused fingers—it were as though Jimmy were perfectly normal. Suddenly, the man's daughter, blonde and blue-eyed, brought what looked like a plate covered in tin foil and presented it to him.

"Homemade brownies," the girl cooed. "I only had one. I saved the rest for you."

"Uh…" Jimmy was overwhelmed with joy but didn't know how to express it. "Thank you." He took the plate, and the girl's blue eyes looked over at Desiree and her three-breasted cleavage with fascination.

"Are you a real lady?" she asked.

"Jessie! Manners!" her mother scolded.

"Oh, that's ok, darlin'," Desiree smiled cheerfully. "I am a lady…and _then_ some!"

The merging of the normal and the different occurred at that moment—the townsfolk socialized with those they had ostracized, and it seemed all was well. Jimmy had shaken the hands of several gentlemen, and Pepper accepted the plate of brownies from the little girl so he could do so. Suddenly, Elsa had an idea—_all these people are here_, she thought with a grin as she made her way up to the ticket podium, _why not sell them a show_?

"Ladies and gentlemen! One and all," Elsa called out graciously. "We would like to invite you to our grand command performance tonight. Here in our big top. Tickets are available over there at the box office."

She gave a ceremonious bow, and everyone clapped as though she had just given a performance herself. Even Jimmy had clapped before looking in the distance—first, he saw Bette, her tilted head on she and Dot's conjoined body. Then he saw Maggie walk out in to his view, and he got distracted and he gave her a slight smirk. It wasn't until he saw the ghostly, unnatural pallor of Naya as she made her way toward the crowd to socialize—he saw her stop for a moment, and he felt his heart race beyond his imagination.

He didn't seem afraid of her, so to speak, but he was admiring her. Naya was indeed beautiful even if she was freakish for being an albino. Unveiled and uncovered by her wide-brimmed hat, he admired her astonishing white features—her swan-white hair; her colorless complexion; her toneless, nearly absent thin eyebrows; her eyes, usually an intense purple, glowed a light shade of lilac purple in the sun as her stark white eyelashes framed them. Jimmy smiled grandly, and she seemed to see him—she nodded her head forward politely, but her face was unsmiling.

* * *

Early that afternoon, the carnies were helping set up for the show Elsa had promised the townspeople outside the great tent. Bette and Dot, the conjoined twins, were summoned by the woman, and Bette politely smiled as she watched the woman direct Pepper and Toulouse to move around audience chairs.

"Space them closer together," she commanded.

"You wanted to see us, Elsa?" Bette asked sweetly.

"_Ja_," she said with a smile. "We have a sold-out show tonight, and I've made some changes to the set list."

"I get it," Dot sneered impatiently. "You're makin' us warm up for _you_." Elsa cackled, shaking her head.

"_Nein_, don't be ridiculous!" she joked. "You and the Pinheads are warming up for Naya the Living Ghost."

"You _can't _be serious!" Dot chided. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"It's our faces on the banner," Bette said, keeping calm. "Naya has only been up for less than a week."

"You were there last week, _leibchen_," Elsa smiled. "We took that banner down."

"Uh, knock-knock?"

It was the voice of a man; a middle-aged man with greased dark hair hiding beneath a brown fedora that matched his brown tweed suit. He had cool blue eyes, slight sun-spotting and wrinkles that properly showed his age and how he had progressed through the years. Elsa looked at him—his real name was Stanley, and he had been the one to take Maggie there for a job. Elsa had not been the one to see him before, and as the twins walked off, the German smiled at him graciously as he introduced himself.

"Uh, sorry to bother you folks," the man said as he approached her. "I, uh…I was hoping to buy a ticket to the show, but it seems to be sold out. I'm here from, uh, out of town. Yeah, Hollywood, California, is where I call home." Elsa gasped excitedly and her hazel eyes widened.

"Hollywood?" she asked.

"Name's Richard Spencer. Talent scout," he said. Elsa smiled, nodding at the man. _This may be my chance_, she thought to herself.

"We can find you a seat, sir," she nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

Naya took it upon herself to warm up with a little rehearsal two hours before seven. After stretching, she managed to find an old _Swan __Lake_ record in the stash among many of Elsa's German-language albums from as much as twenty years before. She took it and looked down, smiling nostalgically as she took it out of its sleeve and turned on the record player. She gently placed the needle on the arm on the corresponding track of the scene with Odile, the Black Swan.

The piece started out being orchestral, but gradually, the violin of the recording was high-pitched but melodious as the albiness moved to the music starting with sashaying and three graceful arabesques. Her black, full skirt seemed to motion well in sync with her body. As she performed a few leaps with her thin, white legs, the slight crinoline flowed freely. Yet when she did her first pirouette, it was a beautiful sight; her willowy, thin arms were raised in the air. Little did she know that Jimmy had entered through the dim backstage left wing after being distracted by the beautiful music.

He watched with fascination, putting his deformed hands into his pockets. Those were his good pants—tonight they were expecting a full house. What a success she'd be, he thought as he watched those thin, pale legs of the albiness move gracefully, those arms wave sinuously like branches of a willow tree. Even in long sleeves, Naya looked delicate as she danced on pointe. He remembered how at the diner, he had seen hints of a tattoo on her forearm; focusing on her arms, he soon got distracted by the rapid, continuous pirouette she had proceeded to.

_How is she not dizzy?_

_I wonder if she's professional._

_I wonder if her feet hurt being on her toes like that_.

The music's tone seemed to go lower, and as it did, Naya moved in rhythm with it. She ended her personal number by descending softly to the wood floor of the stage, pointing one of her pointed feet out as she extended her arms and bent down, her white hair draping over her pale face. Jimmy decided to move forward as the music ended, looking down at the albiness in her graceful, swan-like closing pose.

"That was amazing," he said. Naya jerked her head up and looked around—being blind in one eye, she looked over and couldn't clearly see him standing there.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"It's Jimmy," he said with a smile. "You remember me, right?" Naya turned her head a little more so her good eye could see him and she nodded. Before she could try to stand up herself, the young man offered one of his disfigured hands down to her, and she took it to be pulled to her feet.

"Y-You scared me," she finally said, going to the record player to turn it off and put the album away.

"Seemed you couldn't see me, either," Jimmy joked. Naya glanced at him and looked down at her worn ballet shoes. He smirked slightly and looked down into her intense violet eyes. "Come to think of it, I didn't think you would. We haven't talked in a little while."

"Yes, we haven't," she replied, putting the _Swan Lake_ record back where she found it.

"Show's in two hours. Elsa sent me in here to check stuff," he explained. Naya nodded, but he continued. "Then I saw you." His dark brown eyes gazed down at her achromatic features. "Where did you learn to dance?"

"I was young," Naya replied.

"I bet you were better than the rest," Jimmy assumed with a charming smile. Naya did not respond, but he cleared his throat and tried to make conversation with her some more.

"So…I heard _Swan __Lake_. Is it your favorite?" he asked.

"Yes. I loved it when I was a child," she answered. "Tchaikovsky was…brilliant." Jimmy noticed her pronunciation of the composer was pretty on-point for someone like her. He took a look at her and walked closer to her; Naya took a step back.

"I…suppose I will see you at the show, then?" Jimmy asked, assuming she was leaving.

Naya nodded.

* * *

Yet tables would soon turn.

"That's right, folks. For as long as I can remember…uh, I've been known as Lobster Boy." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Known as Lobster Boy…" Jimmy trailed off during his personal rehearsal, having been inspired by Naya improvised dance routine. He held out his deformed hands and looked at them as though they were something special. _No_, he thought.

"For as long as I can remember, I've been known as Lobster Boy. Son of Neptune, God of the Sea. But my pincers don't hold me back. Watch me juggle!"

Holding three balls in his hands, he managed to toss them each up into the air and catching them at the appropriate times only to throw them up near his face again. The occasional 'whoa' escaped his lips as he maintained his focus, but a familiar voice stopped and distracted him.

"You still rehearse?" He turned to see it was Maggie, her hair tied back in a ponytail with a gold ascot wearing a white embroidered peasant blouse and a red skirt.

"Oh! Uh…yeah, I do," Jimmy said nervously. "We haven't had a full house in forever. I still rehearse after all these years. I still get stage fright." Maggie slinked closer to him, almost seductively, which took him by surprise.

"That's because of you. You're a hero," she said, her soft light hazel eyes looking up at him. The warm, evening breeze seemed to blow her hair gently.

"I want to throw up," Jimmy admitted—he really was nervous and wasn't afraid to show it.

"I'll take your mind off it," Maggie offered, holding out her hand. "Let me read your palm. I'll tell you your future."

"N-No, thanks," Jimmy rejected anxiously, sweeping his vest clean with a brisk movement of his hand.

"Want to know what I think? You're scared of what I might say, so you're chickening out," she told him with a laugh. "Give me your hand, stupid. You have nothing to lose."

Jimmy reluctantly agreed to have his palm read by the same girl who was by his side when trying to save three captives from a run-down trailer in the woods. A large man in a clown costume and disturbing mouthpiece had been the perpetrator, so they thought, but another clown was there and nearly sawed Maggie in half alive while stuck in a wooden box. He looked down at her as she held his hand; he felt his heart race slightly.

"There's a shadow here," Maggie said, pointing to a crease near his fused index and middle fingers. "A shadow of a man. He's coming soon. He'll tell you things, make you promises. He's a liar. Stay away from him." Jimmy chuckled, looking down at her fair, attractive face.

"And you can see all this in my hand?" he asked skeptically.

"Go north. You have to leave. New York, even," Maggie warned.

"Whoa, whoa," Jimmy answered, seeing her frantic. "Big Apple, huh?"

"What's stopping you? You're smart, you're good-looking. You could do anything you want."

Jimmy, flattered by her compliments, had the habit of becoming attached to a member of the opposite sex if they were kind to him and seemed to look past his deformity. He looked down into her soft, glassy hazel eyes, occasionally distracted by her devil-red lips, and found himself leaning in to try and kiss her. However, Maggie backed away, covering her mouth as if she were a shy girl at a party. He leaned back and straightened up, taking a sigh of disappointment as he adjusted his hat and cleared his throat.

"Anything except _that_, I guess," he said sadly.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "Your future _is_ bright. I'm just not in it." Jimmy shook his head with frustration and began to walk away from the girl, holding the juggling balls in his hands as he placed them in the pockets of his good slacks.

"Save it for the paying customers," he crooned. "I was an idiot thinking I would have a chance with a girl like you."

* * *

Backstage, Ethel, who was dressed to the nines and ready to perform at any given moment, was looking for Naya—she was second to next on the setlist.

"Naya?! Anybody seen her?" she asked, looking at all the carnies at makeup desks and wardrobe. "Damn! Where is she? You'd think she'd be easy to spot! She's whiter than sour cream!"

Jimmy, who was helping Salty gel up the small patch of hair on the top of his conical head, walked toward his mother.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Look for Naya. She ain't here! She's on after this act!" Jimmy looked at her with confusion, tilting his head to the side.

"I last seen her a couple of hours ago," Jimmy mentioned.

"Go find her! She's gonna be late and Elsa'll make feathers fly!"

* * *

Jimmy had complied with his mother's request and ventured to Naya's tent. The flaps were closed shut, as if they had been sewn together with twine or some other strong material. He leaned closer to the fabric and heard haunting vocalization from the inside; a deep, mournful contralto. Whatever he could make out from the singing, he knew it was not in English; the notes were drawn out, sounding like a ghost or an apparition; there was a lot of rolling of the R's. Jimmy heard it and was almost frightened half to death—once the singing stopped, he managed to speak even though chills ran through his body.

"N-Naya? Please? Open up, they need you backstage," he said.

There was no answer. He was getting worried.

_SH-ZIP!_

The flaps opened from the inside, and Jimmy pulled the flap back to see Naya sitting on her cot.

She looked quite different from her usual stage look—she wore all black, and makeup. Yes, makeup! The first thing he noticed besides the strange style of her hair; her beyond platinum hair looked blown back, including her fridge, but it definitely was not greasy. It looked soft and feathery, like that of a swan's wings. Her dress was velveteen and form-fitting with a bit of puff to the upper part of the sleeves; it flattered her small, willowy frame by drawing attention to her waist and her average-sized bust. The skirt was long enough to reach the mid-calf, and it was just flowy enough so that she could dance in her act that evening. Her makeup was eye-catching as well a distracting—nothing had been done to make her eyelashes a normal black or her eyebrows a taupe color. Right above her eyebrows was a blue eyeshadow-like paint. Her lips, their actual size defined by the dark, almost black lipstick, looked full and inviting. Jimmy was weirded-out by the sight of her in such a strange stage costume, but he remembered that being a "freak" meant looking weird, scary, unusual, or a combination of the three.

She looked despondent and depressed. Something was certainly bothering her, and he knew it all too well.

"Naya?" he asked, approaching her slowly. "They're waiting for you backstage."

No answer; _new tactic_, he thought as he too ka seat next to her on her cot.

"What's wrong?"

"I am fine," she said in a haunting monotone.

"You don't look fine," Jimmy answered. "You nervous?"

No answer.

"I have stage fright, too. We haven't had a full house for as long as I can remember and even _I _am nervous," he explained, trying to reassure her. He took a sigh after she remained speechless (literally). "Ok, are your toes hurting from earlier?"

"No."

"Why aren't you coming out, then?" he asked with confusion. Naya sighed, looking down at her near-blue fingertips.

"I…I do not want to," she said.

"We have to," he replied.

"I am in no mood," Naya whined wearily. Jimmy tightened his lips in a sad smile and shook his head.

"Naya—"

"I had a dream. I was young," she began. "I did not…_expect_ to be here. I expected to…be on the great stage…dancing. Odette in Swan Lake. Clara in the _Shchelkunchik_. _Cinderella_." She paused for a moment. "I never could become what my dreams wanted me to. Life has not been good to me. I was born in a very…" She looked up at Jimmy, who stared down at her and listened as she spoke to him with her soft, understandable Slavic accent, "_very_ poor family. My…my..._grandmother_ gave me my first dance shoes. She…encouraged me...to dance. A ballet program had only accepted me because I was…a 'natural', they said…" She trailed off and sighed, keeping the tears of her past back. "When I came here, I…I knew that dream was crushed. I was nobody. I _am_ nobody." Her voice turned to a whisper. "I'm just a ghost."

Jimmy looked down and sighed sadly, getting curious about her—yet he did not want to interrogate the young albiness. Naya suddenly seemed to snap.

"They're waiting for _you_, not me. _You_ are the hero."

"I didn't do anything," Jimmy said with humility, leaning forward and sighing. "Meep was the brave one." Naya nodded, remembering the little man when she first saw him, holding the chicken in his hands innocently while he said the only word he knew.

"Life is full of pain," she said, trying to sympathize with him.

"What do you know about pain? I killed someone," Jimmy said sadly. _You have not a clue_, she thought, _I was a Soviet prisoner in Auschwitz. Taken by the Nazis. I watched my family die during the three years I was a prisoner. I was surrounded by death. Walking skeletons haunted the barracks and the grounds. We froze. We starved. We were tortured. I was tortured for trying to save my sister. Fifty-six lashes. Experimented on before being sent to a dark cell to die. My sight in one eye was taken away by the Angel of Death. You have no clue what pain is until you've been hated for what you are and suffered for it at the hands of another._ Naya kept silent; she shut her eyes for a brief moment, trying to rid herself of the memories that had haunted her so.

"You have no clue," she said in a monotone; Jimmy thought she sounded cold.

"You _saw_ me! It _is_ painful! I do have a clue," he responded, tears developing in his relaxing dark brown eyes. "Meep died because of _me_! I let my pride get the best of me. There ain't nothing I can do to wipe that off my slate." Naya was thinking of the right words to say to him in order to console him.

"It is not your fault," she said. "Y-You saved me…" She paused for a moment and looked at his deformed hands quickly. "That night, I was indeed afraid, but then I wasn't, because you saved me."

Jimmy suddenly started to pant, his tears drying up as he leaned incredibly close to the albiness with the tip of his nose brushing against the white skin of her thin neck. His lips puckered and soon followed, leaving a bunch of kisses at the crook of it before wrapping his arms around her—Naya was confused, feeling her face flush with embarrassment; she didn't seem to move, but once she felt a hand start fondling her average-sized breasts through the velvet fabric of her dress, she pushed him off her and looked at him strangely.

"Stop!" she ordered. "What has gotten into you?!"

"Naya…" he groaned, coming closer to her in the same way.

The second she tried to back away from his unwelcome advances, she felt his lips graze hers and his arms snake around her skinny waist to try and pull her closer. She moaned with distaste and managed to push him away again; this time, it was with much more force and she even smacked him in the face. Jimmy reached a hand up to his cheek, where a pink mark had become apparent. Naya went further and squeezed the lower part of his face so his lips protruded outward—her grip was firm and painful, and as he stared at her ghostly pale face, he was all the more intimidated by her strange makeup look.

"Listen to me, you," she said between gritted teeth. "I am _not_ a pretty doll for you to play with! If you do this with every girl you see, they will think you are crazy!" She roughly released his face and stood up, walking to get her ballet shoes from where they were wrapped in the old, unused dishrag. "Now get yourself together! We have a show to do!"

* * *

As much as Naya was angry with Jimmy for his unwelcome advances, he was the one assigned to introduce her on the stage. Desiree, wearing a flowing skirt, stylish heels, and nothing but pasties on the nipples of her three breasts, had finished a seductive dance number when the audience applauded and whistled. Jimmy went on stage toward the microphone and smiled at the audience as the curtains closed in front of Desiree and behind him.

"Desiree Dupree, ladies and gents!" he announced charismatically. "And now, for our newest act! Ladies and gents, prepare yourselves…" He sighed softly into the microphone, acting scared to get a rise out of them, "for…" He lowered his voice to sound spooky, "Naya the Living Ghost!"

There was clapping, and as Jimmy got off stage, he saw Naya step on and into position at dead center—as the curtains opened, the crowd gasped at her ghostly visage and clothing choice. She had still been wearing the black velvet dress with a full skirt to the mid-calf with slight puffing on the upper sleeves. All of her hair, including her blunt fringe, was clean and blown-back for more volume; it looked as soft as a swan's feathers. Her makeup was extremely eccentric and dramatic with blue pigment painted above her white eyebrows and black lipstick that accentuated the fullness of her lips. Her lithe figure got into the first standard ballet position as the music began to play on the record player—Tchaikovsky's _Lake in the Moonlight_.

As she began to improvise her dance by beginning with a sashay, the audience all let out "oohs" and "ahhs" in unison to see her graceful movements. After a few unsupported arabesques and rapid pirouettes, people looked in awe of her control, grace, poise; it was as though they had completely forgotten about her ghostly stage presence even though she was quite frightening with the makeup and black clothing. As the music built up toward the end of the number, Naya performed a few more rapid spins that seemed like one long, continuous one that made her skirt flow in sync with her movements. At the end, Naya posed in the same fashion she had just two hours earlier during her improvised rehearsal—the audience gave her an extraordinary standing ovation. Eve, Jimmy, Paul and Elsa, who were watching from backstage, were shocked to see that even roses were tossed up on the stage for her.

"Brava! Brava!"

_This isn't a ballet_, Elsa thought spitefully, looking as the albiness stood up and gave a ceremonious bow, _this is a freak show_. Perhaps Maggie was right in her predictions—a roaring ovation, but not for her.

* * *

After the show, Naya was crowded by several audience members and a reporter from the _Jupiter Times_, the town newspaper. Pictures were taken, even though the sudden flashes from the camera bothered her. Women, men, and especially young girls from the audience had asked for autographs and were praised for her performance—Elsa was watching from afar with envy in her frustrated hazel eyes.

"You added some culture to the show, hun," a woman said sweetly.

"I ain't never seen ballet like that before!" a rather effeminate man applauded. "I been to see the New York City Ballet's production of _Swan__Lake_ after the war and it didn't light a candle to you tonight!"

"You're not a ghost, darlin'," an older woman said with a gapped-tooth smile, "you're an angel! Brava!"

Then there was a familiar face—black hair, cold, clear blue eyes, rather charming in appearance but very prim. He was wearing bright orange slacks and a forest green blazer with black leather dress shoes. Naya gasped as he smiled charmingly down at her, extending a rose the color of blood to her with a hand on his chest.

"Beautiful miss," he said. "You were amazing this evening." Naya recognized the man as Dandy, the one who had tried to purchase her like property during the last show; she was suddenly embarrassed.

"You."

"Yes, it's me," Dandy replied with a chuckle. "I came to see you. I also want to apologize."

"Yes?" Naya looked up at him, noticing he still held the rose in his hand. Their gazes met perfectly. Her violet eyes were as mesmerizing as ever before, and it made his heart race. Her makeup didn't frighten him, suprisingly.

"Yes. I'm _very_ sorry for asking to buy you," he said with emphatic remorse. "I really hope you can forgive me." Naya took a steady sigh and thought for a moment before responding. She looked up into his eyes, their cool, azure, mysterious color enough to make her heart melt. She did not blush but she nodded.

"It is ok," she said, accepting the rose that was given to her. She noticed a white ribbon tied to it; feeling it, she noticed it was real silk.

"Wonderful, miss," Dandy smiled with excitement.

"I am Naya," she said. "There isn't a need to call me 'miss'."

"I'm only being polite. That's how I was raised. I respect women," he said smiling. _Then why did you ask to buy me_, she thought to herself as she noticed his warped logic. "What are you doing after this? Anything exciting?"

"I am tired," she replied. "Maybe nothing."

"Fooey," Dandy muttered, shaking his head. "See, I would like to take you out sometime, Miss Naya. I would like to see you again."

"Where?"

"Oh, probably a restaurant, or the country club?" Dandy suggested. "I'll go wherever you decide. Or it could be my choice. Either way, we would still be amusing ourselves."

"I will think on it," Naya said.

Suddenly, Stanley in the guise of Richard Spencer, the Hollywood talent scout, approached the two as they socialized and had their small talk. The man, his dark hair covered with a fedora that matched his tweed suit, smiled at the albiness and then at Dandy.

"Naya the Living Ghost," the man smiled. "More like Naya the Prima Ballerina."

"I can agree, sir," Dandy smiled.

"Is this your…wife?" Stanley assumed. The young, prim-and-proper man shook his head and smirked.

"No, I could never be so lucky," he said, glancing at the white beauty of the albiness. "I'll leave you two to be. I'll see you soon, Naya. You were wonderful tonight."

He walked off with a strange grin, and Stanley came closer to Naya, staring at her up and down with admiration.

"Wonderful indeed," he repeated, reiterating what Dandy said.

"Who are you, mister?" Naya asked nervously.

"I am Richard Spencer, talent scout," he fibbed. "I came all the way here from Hollywood."

"H-Hollywood?" she asked, tilting her head to the side her blind eye was on. "You work in the movies?"

"Partially. I have my hands in a bit of everything. Acting, singing…_dancing_?" Stanley emphasized the last word of his sentence. "My, my, Miss Naya, you were amazing tonight. I'd love to see you work your stuff on the big stage, though."

Naya's eyes widened, remembering how before her performance, she hid away in her small tent. When Jimmy had come to find her, she had shared her misery regarding her crush dream of being a dancer; her grandmother, poor _babushka _whom she wished to have survived the prison camp with her, would have been so proud to see that someone was recognizing her talents and making her known for them. Yet it all seemed too good to be true—Elsa, who still watched the albiness from afar, left the commotion of the after-show to her dwelling tent. Her heart had turned green; _that was my one chance_, she thought to herself.

**A/N:**

**So Elsa is officially jealous of the attention Naya is getting for not only her "freakish" albinism but her dancing talents. **

**A side note: **_Shchelkunchik _**is the Russian name for the ballet, ****_The Nutcracker_****.**

**I got a Review from a mystery guest saying the following, so I might as well just answer it here: "**What is the difference of this story compared to the actual show minus the two or three lines from the OC?" **Well, I did plan on having the beginning be canon up until the Edward Mordrake Pt. 1 &amp; 2 episodes. The rest of the story is not set in stone but I plan on branching out so it isn't so canon and more like AU or an original storyline ending of my own design. Bear with me on that!**

**Special thanks to all who have added this story to their favorites or followed it! It's greatly appreciated!**

**Please leave some feedback, andi f you have suggestions, feel free to share them!**

**Thanks and happy reading/writing! :3**


	9. Chapter 9

"What was that man telling you, _leibchen_?"

Startled, Naya turned around to see Elsa standing there, still in her garish makeup and ensemble consisting of a heather gray pantsuit, in the entrance of her tent. She still had that dreadful envy lingering in her stare, and she projected it at Naya as though she had committed a crime. After removing the last of her haunting makeup, the albiness put her handheld mirror down and looked at the German standing there.

"Richard Spencer was his name," the albiness said with a weary sigh. "From Hollywood."

"_Ja_, I know that part," Elsa snided. "What did he say to you?"

"He said to me…that he wants to put me on the great stage. He wants to make my dream come true," Naya said happily with an unsmiling face.

"And you're _really_ going to believe him?" the older woman asked, testing her coldly.

"_You_ offered him a free seat," the albiness contradicted. "_You_ believed him before me. Why shouldn't I do the same?"

_Now she's just being cute_, Elsa thought to herself, _piece of sheisse_.

"Because you're not _me_," the woman sneered. Naya shook her head, her violet eyes gazing back at the German skeptically.

"Why would I want to be you?" Naya asked, standing up as her black velvet dress fit her form perfectly; she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Because I am star," Elsa replied. "_You_ are not."

"No. Not yet," Naya stated. "I _will_ be. I will be following the dream my…grandmother nurtured and encouraged when I was young. She was very close to me…" She bit her lower lip to prevent from crying; memories of when her grandmother was immediately sent to be gassed upon arrival at the prison camp flooded her mind. The tears still escaped and ran down her cheeks. "It broke my heart when she…died. I am going to…pursue my dream…and my happiness all in her name."

"She must be very proud of you," Elsa smiled, changing her tone to sound more friendly.

"She would be," Naya nodded, wiping her eyes slightly and sniffling. Elsa moved closer into her tent and sighed, taking a seat in the folding chair at the end of the albiness' cot, staring at her while feigning kindness.

"I should make a call," the German offered, "so you can look your best."

"My best?" the white beauty asked. "I look fine."

"I mean, you should look your best. You're so _set_ on being a star. You might as well look the part," the German said. "You wear black all the time. Look at me, _I_'m a star. I wear only the finest things. Not just black."

"I wear black to hide me from the sun," Naya said. "I burn easy."

"Yet you grace your audiences in white, except for tonight. Were you too lazy to change out of your casual clothing?" Elsa teased subtly but rudely.

"Ugh," Naya scoffed. "Look at yourself before you judge me."

"I'm not judging you, _leibling_," Elsa stated.

"Then why are you speaking to me like this?" Naya asked. "I don't fear you. I can succeed on my own, if I wished."

"Think again, _leibchen_," Elsa chided.

"I don't have to think," Naya retorted. "I know. I had to succeed on my own when I first came here. I believe I can do the same when I pursue my dream." She yawned and opened her wooden chest filled with her belongings and took out her white nightgown, looking and seeing Elsa back away slowly toward the entrance.

"Well, then," the German muttered under her breath, struggling to bite her tongue. "_Gute nacht_."

* * *

_"__It would've been worse had she been sent to the_ gulag _back home," the doctor had said._

_Katyenka, former prisoner, recently liberated, was taken out of the dark cell she was confined to indefinitely for three months. Auschwitz's liberation was only a few days before, and soldiers were still trying to release the walking skeletons from the crammed barracks and anyone left lying in dark cells to die of starvation or suffocation. He had been stitching up and medicating the infected lash wounds on her back that simply had not healed under the filthy conditions of the dark cell. It was no easy task—every bone in her body was known and seen. Katyenka was all skin and bones, too much so to even survive. The doctor was baffled thinking of the miraculous circumstances as he saw the unconscious teenager faced-down on the hospital cot._

_"__She's awfully pale, too, doctor," the Polish nurse had said, noticing the moon-white complexion of the newly-freed prisoner. The doctor nodded and sighed._

_"__Albinism," he replied. "I've only seen one other in my lifetime. It's pretty rare in Ukraine."_

_The nurse glanced to see the doctor gently shoving the sterile needle, threaded with a thin black thread-like fiber, through the thin layer of skin that had been parted by the bullwhip. Pus was present, showing him it was infected; even as he was trying to expertly clean the wounds, there was still an abundance of the disgusting bodily substance. She watched his attentive expression as he continued meticulously, sighing._

_"__Doctor?" she asked._

_"__Yes, Sophie?"_

_"__Why did you leave the USSR __to come to Poland?" she asked. The doctor sighed and looked down at where he was stitching the lashes up, stopping to answer her question._

_"__Because I knew my comrades were being sent here," he replied. "Plus, Ukraine__…__is not the best place for a doctor right now."_

The dream seemed long and drawn-out, even as Naya woke up like she always had. There was not any anxiety, however, which was quite unusual. Any visions or recollection of her dark past made her have post-traumatic episodes, even the ones from when she was recovering from three years of being held prisoner. The sun was already shining, and when she freshened up, she wore a raven-colored, long sleeved dress that reached the knees. Her black stockings held up over her thighs, and her plain leather shoes stepped out of the tent as she put on her wide-brimmed black hat.

She went to the great tent and gasped at the sight in the distance. She walked closer to see Jimmy and Dandy talking with each other in a rather casual manner, but kept herself away from them as she heard their dialogue.

"Look, I know why you're here," Jimmy said. "You got a thing for that pretty albino girl. I don't judge. I know when you see a pretty girl, you just gotta have her. I get it, you know? Us guys, we don't always think with our brains." _Did he just call me pretty_, she thought to herself—she felt her face flush and get a bit warm.

"No, no, no, I'm not really here for Naya," Dandy replied politely. "I'm here for _myself_." He took a sigh, and Jimmy looked confused. "I want to join the show. I've had an epiphany."

"Uh, yeah?" Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows inward and looked at him strangely.

"I truly believe _this_ is where I belong. I've been ruminating on my life and what I want. This is the _perfect _place for me," Dandy said with an enthusiastic smile. Naya stared at them both with her good eye. _He can't be serious_, she thought to herself.

"Well," Jimmy smirked, "unless you got pony legs under them trousers or a double-ding dong, then—"

"No, but I know the whole Cole Porter canon," Dandy said empathically with optimism.

"Listen, you ain't the first kid who wants to run away and join the circus. You got dreams of the lights, but trust me," Jimmy explained. "It's _nothing_ like you'd imagine. You wouldn't last _one day_ here."

"You don't know me," Dandy said sadly. "What you're looking at is far from who I am inside. I'll prove it! Take a chance on me! You could be saving my life!"

Suddenly, Jimmy got furious with the prim young man, grabbing one of his wrists with his deformed hands roughly as he raised it up between them. Naya, from what she could see out of her good eye, gasped quietly, watching and listening.

"You know what I wouldn't give to have real hands like _yours_?!" Jimmy snapped. "To be able to touch a girl without _scaring_ her?! From where I'm sitting, you got the world in the palm of your hands! So, you go home to your mansion on the hill, and you thank _God_ for all you got!"

Suddenly, Jimmy tossed Dandy's wrist like it was nothing.  
"Now _scram_! I have a tent to sweep!"

Once Dandy left, Naya was shocked he didn't notice her standing there. Jimmy had started to sweep the floor of the great tent as the albiness walked over slowly and inquisitively. She saw his dark eyes glance at her, but he didn't utter two words to her—he just used the pushbroom and swept away debris from the night before; popcorn boxes, empty peanut bags, paper drink cups, small candy boxes empty of their contents, and wrappers from gum and other treats.

"I heard yelling," Naya said. "What happened?"

"Why do you care?" Jimmy sounded incredibly rude; Naya just kept her eyes on him, ignoring him as she leaned down to gather the trash left by the audience. Jimmy glanced over at her, hoping to see her bent over but instead she was crouched down. _What a lady_, he thought to himself as he shook his head, seeing her efficiency with stacking popcorn boxes in one another and filling up the emptiness with trash.

"You know, you don't have to," Jimmy said.

"But I want to," she interjected. "You're all alone in here."

"Well, I kinda thought you'd be still mad at me from last night," Jimmy said, sweeping the floor. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"Huh?" Jimmy stopped and rested his hands on the stationary broom, looking at Naya and bewitched by her lilac-violet eyes.

"I said I was sorry, you know, from last night," he repeated. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but you were busy with people oogling over your dancing. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you, and I'm sorry for touching you…and I'm sorry for being an ass just now."

"You mean it?" she asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" Jimmy asked, furrowing his eyebrows inward.

"Not sure." He swept some more as Naya walked to the trash can to throw away the garbage left by the audience.

"If you must know why there was yelling, that Dandy-boy pissed me off," he explained. Naya gathered more trash and tossed in the trash can, looking at him.

"How?"

"Just…he made fun of us." Jimmy's tone became mocking in nature; '_I want to join the show_!', '_I'm mentally a freak_!'…blah blah blah!"

Naya was silent, listening to him as he continued to speak.

"You know, these people…" He trailed off for a moment, getting into the right train of thought. "They don't even know us. If they just got to know us, they would see we're just like them. No better, no worse, just regular people. That's what we gotta do." He stiffed his upper lip. "Just let 'em know us."

Jimmy suddenly noticed her blind eye twitching, and he looked curiously as he walked closer; Naya took a step back, and he felt a little hurt by it. Yet he wasn't angry—after all, the previous night, he tried to make advances to her.

"Uh, is there something wrong with your eye?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Your eye is twitching," he said.

"Oh," Naya said, rubbing her blind eye gently. "That one is blind."

"_Blind_?" Jimmy asked in shock

"Yes."

"How?" _I was experimented on_, she thought, finishing the sentence in her head. She shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead gently. She suddenly remembered how badly the chemical had burned her eye when it was dropped into it; it was a searing kind of pain.

"I-I don't remember," she said; _such a liar_, she called herself in her head.

"Well, you don't wake up and just become blind," Jimmy said.

"I said I don't remember," Naya replied with more force in her voice.

"That explains why you couldn't see me well last night before the show," he realized.

"Exactly."

As the albiness continued helping him clean the great tent, Jimmy glanced over from time to time to see how much had been cleared away. The efficiency of her cleaning method made him more curious, and as soon as they were finished, he couldn't help but smile at her with gratitude, staring at her freakish, but beautiful violet eyes as she made her way toward the exit of the great tent; Naya had turned when she heard his voice again.

"Thanks for the hand," he said cheerfully.

With an unsmiling, serene face and a nod of approval, she left the great tent, entering the harsh rays of the sun as they shone down on her raven-covered form. She walked slowly and squinted so much her head began to ache and throb with irritation. Even the brim of her hat was not enough to dodge the sun, but she tried picking up the pace to get the shade faster, but a voice stopped her.

"Hello? Miss Naya?" The voice sounded exactly as it had the previous night after the show.

"Mister…Spencer?"

The image of Stanley under the guise of his alter ego came clearer to her as she further shielded her face from the sun—he was wearing a strangely-designed yellow tie, a white dress shirt, and suspenders that held up his casual khaki slacks. His mustache was slightly grayer than his dark, neatened hair, and his blue eyes seemed to look down at her with clear intent of some strange classification.

"Yes, it's me. I've come for you," he said. Naya stopped, continuing to squint at the well-dressed man.

"Why?"

"Well, we gotta discuss your future!" Stanley smiled, gently taking the albiness' pale hand. "I was thinking maybe over a picnic?"

"Picnic?" Naya asked.

"Yeah. I've prepared some…_very_ special treats to celebrate your future as a dancer," he said; there was a hidden slyness in his voice, and suddenly he had been stuck in his imagination—Naya seemed like easy bait.

* * *

"What is that?" she asked, looking down at the vanilla cupcake that was frosted perfectly with bright pink frosting. Stanley chuckled and shook his head, looking into her violet eyes with his clear blue ones.

"A pink cupcake. Don't tell me you've never had one," he said.

"No, I have never," Naya replied.

"Well, now's the time to try it," Stanley said with a smirk, holding the plate to her. "I made them myself." Naya thought for a moment; she was so tempted to say yes, but she found herself shaking her head instead.

"N-No, thank you," she said. Stanley cocked an eyebrow up and continued to hold the confection on a small china saucer out to her.

"Are you sure? They're to _die_ for," he said, trying to convince her. Yet they literally were to die for—he had poisoned them during preparation with the hopes of taking something off the albiness' pale body to sell to the morbidity museum.

"No, thank you," she said assertively. "When I dance, the weight goes to my toes. I would not want to gain any more."

"But you are in lovely shape," Stanley smiled, looking at the sitting, slender form of the albiness; he had put the cupcake back in the picnic basket. "You don't need to worry about that."

Naya remained silent, but Stanley continued.

"As I was saying last night, you have some amazing dance skills. In fact, I've never seen ballet performed with such…uh, what's the word…_poise_? _Control_? _Grace_? You got it all!" he exclaimed; Naya's eyes widened softly with optimism. "Where did you train?"

Naya looked down, letting her memories of her first formal ballet training play in her mind like an old movie reel.

* * *

_**Stalingrad, USSR**_

_**1940**_

_"__Shoulders back!"_

_"__Back straight!"_

_"__Hand on the barre!" _

_There was pause. Katyenka, only ten years old, kept her face forward as the dance teacher, a former Leninist revolutionary and one of the finest dance teachers in Stalingrad, instructed the class—a group of twelve girls between the ages of eight and fourteen, including the destitute albino child, were all in the third standard ballet position with their feet __placed in front of the other so that the heel of the front foot was near the arch of the back foot__, their hands were stabilizing them on the metal barres._

_Katyenka followed suit with her teacher's directions, remaining in position number three as she straightened her back and pushed her shoulders back slightly. Her other arm, lithe and graceful, curved inward with the hand gathered—her instructor walked by her and looked down, seeing the white, new, silken pointe shoes that the child had on her feet. Her grandmother had given them to her as a Christmas present just a month before, and it was at that moment when he first noticed them._

_"__Such lovely shoes," he told her. Katyenka glanced at him before facing forward again._

_"__Thank you, comrade," she replied kindly._

_"__Your family must have gone through hell just to get them," he said, lowering his tone to sound personal to the girl. Katyenka focused forward as they progressed to position number four, the feet still crossed at the heels but slightly parted. The instructor noticed the albino pupil place her foot too far out and at the wrong angle, and he pointed his foot forward to correct her placement._

_"__No, no," he said. "Not like that." He pushed her foot with the point of his to realign it at the proper angle. "Like _this_." Katyenka slouched in the process. "No slouching!"_

_"__I'm sorry, comrade," she said apologetically. "I didn't mean to." The ruler he was holding was raised and placed at the very bottom of her back, making her straighten as a reflex—her large purple eyes framed by white eyelashes widened before he stepped back and observed his pupils._

_"__There," he said. "Graceful like a swan, with feet like iron."_

* * *

Naya seemed lost in her silent reverie—her eyes were still fixed on the red-and-white checkered picnic blanket. The snapping of Stanley's fingers brought her out of her pleasant memory of a strict but knowledgeable teacher.

"You alright?" he chuckled.

"Oh!" Naya's eyes widened, her lips parting to almost a smile—her teeth were white, but imperfect. "Yes, I am."

"You know, they say the best dancers in the world of ballet came from Russia," Stanley said; Naya nearly gasped, but she listened. "Well, it's the Soviet Union, now, of course. Not really Russia, so to speak."

Naya remained silent and glanced down only to look back up into his clear blue eyes to hear him finish his thoughts.

"With my connections, I can make you the next Maria Taglioni, Galina Ulanova, or…_Anna Pavlova_?"

Naya's eyes smiled at him; _my inspiration_, she thought inside her head, _my greatest inspiration besides my _babushka. Perhaps there was hope after all for the albiness and her dreams. There seemed to be so much promise with the words of the self-proclaimed 'talent scout'.

* * *

Naya was sitting holding her mirror that evening, staring at her pale-white features in her reflection. Her alabaster-colored hair was slightly roughed up from the wind, making her fringe sway more to the left. Her violet eyes, intense as ever, looked uneven due to the uncontrollable twitch of her right, blind one. Her neck, slender and graceful, was whiter than chalk as was the rest of her complexion. She saw that Elsa had entered her tent via the corner of the mirror's reflection.

"Hello, _leibchen_," Elsa smiled, looking down into the mirror from over her shoulder. "You forgot to tell me how your meeting with the talent scout went."

"He wants to make me a star. The next…uh…Anna Pavlova," Naya said with enthusiasm; Elsa noticed her over-the-top pronunciation of the famed prima ballerina's name. "Yet I don't understand."

"Why not?"

"Because…look at me," Naya said hesitantly. "I'm too white."

"The opportunity of a lifetime presents itself on a silver platter, and you hesitate?" Elsa asked. "Just yesterday, you gloated about your talents and how you wanted to be a star, and how much you've dreamed of performing on the big stage."

"I am not doing _that_," Naya answered, putting her mirror down. "I just…am baffled. Or, rather…what's the word, _overwhelmed_."

"I don't know if he's told you yet, but he has asked me to go as well," Elsa claimed with a calm whisper.

Naya turned her head slowly up to meet Elsa's hazel gaze, her blind eye twitching involuntarily as she tried to process the logic of the fame-hungry German. She could not dance, especially ballet or the way Naya did during her relatively short time with the freak show. She was able to sing, though it sounded like a broken record and was not entirely in tune. The albiness sighed and licked her lower lip, thinking of her outrageous, far-fetched claim.

"Why _you_?" Naya asked. "You cannot dance. You can _sing_, but not dance."

"_Ja_, but I am a _star_, don't you see?" Elsa ensured, cocking her over plucked eyebrows at her. "I would _not_ be the one to dance along with you on stage at some…_high-end_ opera house or theater. I will mentor you, because I, as much as anyone else here, want the very best for you."

_After all_, Naya thought to herself, trying to reason what she was telling her, _she did give me a better job and a home. I don't make fifty cents to the dollar anymore. It's more than tripled since_.

"Go to bed now, _leiben_. Get lots of rest," Elsa instructed. "In the morning, we have scheduled a discreet private fitting with the best seamstress in town." Naya, recalling their chat from the night before, took a breathy sigh of contempt and looked up at Elsa.

"I told you I look fine," the albiness said forcefully.

"But a ballerina needs a tutu, _ja_?" Elsa asked. Naya was silenced by her words as the German left—she was right, indeed.

**A/N:**

**So…I know I said there wouldn't be a lot of canon after the Edward Mordrake sequence but…well, at least Naya is talking more now that she is used to her surroundings in Jupiter. :3**

**Shoutouts to everyone who favorited and followed! Also, shoutouts to **FloraTheCake**, **iWritexx**, **RHatch89**, and **shyangel101** for your input. Much appreciated! **

**Please feel free to leave your thoughts and feedback in the Reviews, and be sure to Favorite and Follow! **

**Thanks and happy reading! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

_She cannot dance._

_Why did she say she'd mentor me?_

_She has no formal dance training._

_I wouldn't be surprised if she has no formal training at all._

Naya looked out the car window from the backseat to see the town sign pass them by. She read the words clearly, seeing Elsa glance back at her slyly through the reflection of the rearview mirror as she drove down the long, unwinding dirt road leading out of town. She knew something strange was going on—they seemed to be driving in circles for the past hour and there had been no visit to any seamstress anywhere in Jupiter. She finally opened her tight lips and said something.

"Where are you taking me?" Naya asked forcefully. "Stop this car!"

"Oh, Naya," Elsa began, "I just had a better idea, that's all."

"Better idea, my tail!" Naya snapped. "Let me out right here!"

"Not a smart move, leibchen," the German snickered.

"_You_ are not smart for thinking I'm stupid!" Naya barked. "Let me out right here! Stop this car! _Please_!"

Elsa slammed on the brakes really hard; so hard that Naya bumped against the back of the driver's seat before undoing her seatbelt. She opened the side door and stepped out on the long dirt road, much to Elsa's shock, but she didn't get out of the car to even stop the young woman. Naya walked down the long road, the violent sun beaming down on her raven-clothed form with the wide-brimmed hat. As she walked, memories from the past once again visited her mind:

* * *

**_En Route to Poland_**

**_August 1942_**

_Through a space between the wooden-planked walls of the crammed boxcar, Katyenka could see that the blackness of night had set in. The boxcar seemed to move slowly, and everyone, packed like meat in a burger patty, had tired knees and feet. The environment forced them to stand as they were being transported. That little crack near Katyenka's place of stance had been her only contact to the outside world._

_"_Lebedska_," a soft, shrill voice said behind the young albiness—turning her head, it was her grandmother. Her face was weathered by age, but her warm brown eyes looked quite young. Her head was covered with an old, plain, worn headscarf tied at the chin. _

_"_Babushka_," the girl whined. "I'm so afraid."_

_"__Me, too," the elderly woman replied. _

_Oksana, squeezed in right next to her unnaturally pale sister, looked at her with starry blue eyes sparkling with tears of worry. She definitely was devastated by the loss of their home and being captured, but the pain seemed to cut as deep into her heart as it did the others. Her rich auburn-brown hair, once in a neat, simple bun, was now disheveled from running and being packed into the boxcar with her fellow Soviets. She still was incredibly beautiful, and some in the boxcar had even gone on their tip-toes to see above the others for the chance to see her beauty even if it were only for three seconds. She had chiseled cheekbones cut like glass, flawless smooth skin, a perfectly-sized straight nose, and full lips with a natural pink color. Even her frame was a lot to admire; she had a very small waist and a generous bosom that was flattered by any of the three outfits she had owned at home. She had been captured while wearing her most comfortable, but ragged-up dresses that was brown and went below the knees. August had also made her underarms perspire enough to produce wet stains on her clothes._

_As the wounded Soviet soldier groaned in the corner, struggling to remove a bullet from his abdomen in the intense crowding, Katyenka felt a hand reach to her—Oksana met her gaze with hers._

_"__No matter what happens," she had told her, "we will survive."_

* * *

Naya had tears in her eyes from the memory that had played in her mind. _My sister_, she thought, _so strong and beautiful. I had thought we would survive together. Not just me living life alone. She and I could have made it to America__together after the war. _Her legs were fatigued from walking six miles back to the heart of town, and once she stopped into the diner and had a seat at the counter, no one budged from their seats. Everyone minded their own business. She could've sworn she was still crammed in that smelly, sweltering boxcar with the rest of the soon-to-be inmates; the pain in her knees was akin to the pain of that long trip to the dreadful concentration camp, forced to stand with body on top of body in the box car.

She suddenly sensed a presence sit next to her; she glanced over slowly to see an all-too-familiar man with black hair in a more mature hairstyle rather than the foolish curls she first had seen him with, an a suit composed of a red, white and blue pinstripe blazer with a pair of black slacks and fine leather dress shoes. His blue eyes first caught her gaze as the waitress was silently filling her coffee.

"Naya?" It was Dandy. "What a nice surprise to see you here."

Naya sipped her coffee silently, but he continued to speak to her kindly and charmingly.

"Did you finally need alone time from the troupe?"

"I will not go back," Naya stated—her response was chilling. Dandy looked at her strangely as he was given a menu from the same waitress.

"Why?"

"Stupid games," Naya said, staring down into her black coffee. "Dreams are just stupid games. They get you to hope, but they let you go just as quick."

"You _should_ be attaining your dreams!" Dandy exclaimed excitedly. "You are an amazing dancer, Naya. Do you realize how much recognition you would get from dancing on the greatest stage of the world? Do you—"

"Elsa tricked me," Naya interrupted softly. "She drove me just out of town. She promised me a dressmaker _here_ in town to make me costumes. Mister Spencer said he had connections with Hollywood. He took me for an eat outside yesterday."

"And what happened?" Dandy was pryingly curious as he sipped his orange juice.

"He wants to make me the next Anna Pavlova," Naya answered, sipping her bitter black coffee. "He wants to make my dream come true."

This is my chance, Dandy thought to himself as he gazed longingly at the beautiful albiness; her white fringe cut straight across as it covered her forehead, her violet eyes, the blind one twitching involuntarily, staring into space; her pitch black ensemble to ward off the sun and its dangerously bright rays; her icy white eyelashes that were full and uniquely lush; her slender figure accentuated by her clothing choice. He smiled and nodded.

"If you're not going back, I have a proposition for you," he said connivingly.

"Oh?" Naya looked at him and listened with open ears.

"You can come live with me at my house," he smiled. "You won't have to pay any rent or anything. You won't have to do any chores, because our maids will take care of it for you. You'll have your very own room. Anything your heart desires, I will give you. You deserve to be pampered. You deserve only the finest things."

"But what about—"

"Forget about your cares," Dandy insisted. "You will be given the life you want, not what someone thinks they can give you by living in a tent with just provisions." He took her pale hand into his—she looked down and could feel the surface of his palm was manly but soft. "Naya, you deserve the world. I would be honored to be the one to do that for you."

* * *

"Mother?" Dandy called out, Naya behind him as they entered his home. The young woman looked around to see a grand staircase spiraling up to the second floor. He approaching the landing and called up the stairs with his hand on the polished stone railing. "Mother! I have the most wonderful news!"

Gloria, dressed in a white and pink floral dress with rose-colored low pumps, a white sunhat, and white Belgian lace gloves came strolling in gracefully with her hands to her sides, looking at her well-dressed man-boy of a son approach her with such enthusiasm the floor nearly shook.

"What is it, dear?" she asked in her shrill, elderly voice. Dandy gestured out his hand to Naya, and Gloria gasped—I can't believe this, she thought.

"Mother," he began. "Naya has come to live with us!"

**A/N:**

**Keri, here! I know, it's a short chapter this time, but things will be more intense before you know it. Thanks for all the reads, reviews, favorites and follows guys! It's appreciated! :3**

**If you have any ideas for a future chapter of this story, do leave them in your comments.**

**Please leave Reviews, Favorite and Follow!**

**Thank you! :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Dandy was sitting at the head of the table directly across form Gloria's end as they patiently waited for Naya's coming down the stairs. She was drawn a bubble bath smelling of sweet French lavender and vanilla and was laid out a simple but elegant dress consisting of a black lace bodice with a silk skirt a clean ecru shade. Also, Dandy had instructed one of the maids to take one of Gloria's short strings of fine pearls and put them on Naya's neck when ready to come down to dinner. In the meantime, the mother and man-boy son had a conversation.

"Look under the dome," Gloria instructed, pointing to the metal piece resting atop Dandy's place setting. "I got you a present."

"A present?"

He gingerly took the handle of the silver dome and pulled it aside to reveal what looked to be a flat, unopened wrapper containing something. He took it and read the label, shaking his head with confusion at his mother.

"_Prophylactics_?" he asked with incredulity. "Mother! Why did you give me these?"

"You're a young man with needs, Dandy," Gloria responded graciously. "Inbreeding has caused enough trouble with our family. We don't need to muddy the waters any further, especially with whatever curse led to that…that…_ghost_'s horrifying pallor." Dandy was outraged—how dare she call her a name so cruel and untrue?!

"I would _never_ violate Naya, mother!" Dandy hissed through gritted teeth, his cold blue eyes like daggers directed at her. "I _love_ her! I didn't think I could feel love until I met her. My heart was_lost_, don't you _see_?!"

"Please don't tell me you're going to be her escort to cotillion?" Gloria chided, shaking her head. "I will _not_ allow you to isolate us from the world because of some new _fetish_!"

"Mother!" Dandy was getting angry. "What? Because she's a _freak_?! I am, too! With her, I feel _normal_ for a change!"

Gloria had tears in her eyes, and she sniffled.

"Well," she sighed tearfully, "I guess there comes a time in every woman's life where she must give up her son to another woman."

"I'm going to marry her, mother," Dandy stated with excessive pride. "She and I will be together forever and ever."

At that moment, Naya entered the dining room gingerly, taking slow, steady steps in the t-strap kitten heels she was given. Dandy and Gloria both looked at her form flattered by the dress provided for her; luckily the digits tattooed into her forearm were hidden beneath the black lace of the sleeves. Her dark heather gray hose went up to her mid-thigh, matching her outfit perfectly. Her hair was the same style; nothing had changed, especially not her ghostly, stark white color. Dandy stood up from his end of the table and extended his hand to the albiness, who put her hand in his and was led to one of the other few dining chairs set at the table. Dandy had pulled the chair out for her that was on the left middle side and she sat down, putting her hands on her lap as she looked over at Gloria, who stared back in awe at how well-mannered she seemed.

"Hello, Miss Naya," she said. "Welcome to our home."

"T-Thank you," the albiness replied as the maid began to serve them their dinner—Dandy seemed to glare at his new personal maid. _I liked Dora better_, he thought to himself.

The appetizer included a bowl of fresh fruit consisting of cut kiwi, cool raspberries, and blackberries imported from north of the country. Naya hadn't touched her food until she saw Dandy and Gloria doing just that, and when she did, she had only just realized that in Russia, her family had been too poor to obtain such luxuries. Then the soup was served—French onion with a pinch of parsley on the top of the white, creamy broth. When the entrée was brought out, Naya had realized that she had been sitting eating with the Motts for a full hour, and she was shocked when the dome was lifted and smoke rose to her face—on her plate, a medium rare, marinated filet mignon rested topped with a rich burgundy, red wine-mushroom gravy with a vegetable medley and creamy, whipped mashed potatoes. It was when Gloria began digging into her food that the real conversation began between her son and their house guest.

"So, I couldn't help but notice that you have an accent, Miss Naya," the older woman asked. The albiness looked over at her with her violet eyes, but didn't answer quite yet. "Where are you from? I don't believe you've told us."

There was a brief moment of silence; Dandy also waited for an answer.

"Poland," Naya fibbed—technically, it was not a lie.

"When did you decide to come to the United States?" Dandy asked with a smile on his face after swallowing a bit of his vegetables. "After the war, I'm assuming?"

Naya nodded silently, trying to repress memories—she seemed to stare right through the prim man-boy who had welcomed her into his home.

"What was the journey like?" he asked. "Did you travel with your family?"

"Alone," Naya replied. Again, not a lie.

"I can only imagine what you must have gone through," Gloria said, sipping from her pinot grigio. "Travelling all alone like that. How old were you?"

There was another moment of silence.

"Sixteen."

"Oh, dear," Gloria muttered.

When dessert came out, two and half hours had been spent eating a full course dinner—Naya was already full, and once the Baked Alaska layered with tri-flavor Neapolitan ice cream, topped with baked whipped crème and a side of fresh-cut strawberries, she did not hesitate to reject it much to the shock of Dandy and Gloria, who looked at her strangely.

"Naya?" Dandy asked. "Are you sure you don't want any baked Alaska?" She shook her head.

"No. I am full," she replied. "May I please leave the table?"

"I _insist_ you finish the last course," Dandy persuaded with a strange smile. Naya sighed as the plate was put out in front of her. Judging by his tone and smile, she somehow felt like he would do something or be angry for not doing what he said.

With a full stomach, she continued to eat.

She felt like she was about to vomit by the time the maids came and collected their dishes; Dandy led Naya to his playroom and she looked around to see a large, life-sized model horse and a toy box off to the side of the room. In dead center, there was a mini-golf course with realistic grass and a mini yellow pennant sticking up. At the far end of the room was a small stage with velveteen red curtains drawn back with a small wooden crate full of marionettes near the edge. Dandy looked back to see a blank expression on her face as he walked over to his toy box-like container and opened it, glancing back at her.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"Why?"

"I have a surprise for you."

She did so—it only took a few moments for Dandy to tell her to open them again. When she did, she saw it was a plain white box with a satin ribbon tied around it.

"Open it," he said with a smile bigger than Jupiter.

Once she took off the ribbon and lifted the lid, she saw a bunch of white tissue paper which she moved aside to a beautiful sight—a shiny, satin pair of white pointe shoes that were newer than a newborn baby. She gasped, taking the shoes out of the box and admiring them wholeheartedly with wide eyes and parted lips. Dandy smiled at her and heard her chuckle slightly as she admired and felt the new shoes she had been gifted. He gasped when she looked up at him and smiled grandly—her teeth were white, but imperfect. He even noticed her right eye twitching as her face dangerously lit up in front of him; her fully smiling face was about as frightening as a white mask.

"I wanted to wait until your next performance to give them to you," he said with a proud, smug look. "But now that you're here, you can have them. I know you're speechless, but this is how you will live when living here."

There was a moment of silence—Naya had tears of joy in her eyes as she giggled joyfully.

"I knew you'd like them."

* * *

Elsa's birthday party had been planned by Ethel, who also was in charge of making the cake. Everyone had bought her presents, but the moment someone asked about Naya and caught on about her absence, the birthday girl made a huge stink about it. The long faces of Jimmy, Eve, Paul, the twins Bette and Dot, Toulouse, Ma Petit (who had been wrapped in a pink crochet blanket as a snuggle-buddy at night), Ethel, Dell, Desiree and all the other carnies were dead giveaways of their disappointment in the absence of the dancing albiness.

"Why does everyone look so glum?" she asked. "It's only the beginning of a week of festivities."

"Why so glum?" Jimmy asked, repeating her in a testy manner. "Where's Naya? She should be celebrating with us!"

"We miss her," Eve said. "Did she say anything before she left?"

"Maybe we should look for her," Paul suggested.

"She might be lost somewhere if she is still here in—"

"ENOUGH!" Elsa barked, cutting Jimmy off. "I will have no more talk of that white-faced_freak_! We bring her in, give her a home with food and company and this is how she repays us?! BY _RUNNING OFF_?!" She took a breath and tried to contain herself. "I don't want to hear anymore talk about Naya. Do you hear me?! I demand that you begin having fun this instant!"

* * *

The following day, Paul was walking to the center of town near the shopping district. His present for Elsa had been quite late, but she didn't mind and understood totally. On the way to the general store, he was suddenly stopped by a strange sight in a clear-as-day shop window past the two mannequins standing up. He saw a beautiful young woman with hair and skin the color of virgin snow. Her hair reached her shoulders with a fringe to cover her forehead and almost absent eyebrows. He moved closer to the window to see she was smiling grandly—she had never smiled whenever he had seen her, and her hands were in front of her holding out the skirt of a full-crinolined dark turquoise dress with the front lined with button and a canary yellow belt to cinch the waist. Paul looked in horror, but inside the shop, he could see a young, dark-haired man approaching her with extended arms. They seemed completely oblivious to his presence outside the window.

"You look _spectacular_!" Dandy exclaimed.

Meanwhile, the shop assistants, who had been bringing dresses to the albiness to try on for the past hour, looked at her white hair and skin with disgust. Naya was speechless, seeing a sapphire blue dress hanging up; Dandy, who was attentive to her every need, looked back and eyed the dress, seeing pearls sewn in the center of two dark blue colored ribbons. He snapped his fingers at the shop assistants, one of which took the dress off the rack and looked at Dandy, awaiting orders like a soldier to his superior.

"Give it to her," he ordered, "at once."

That was when Dandy took both of her hands and kissed their bluish fingertips; he also noticed hints of digits tattooed in black ink into her pale, moon-white skin.

Paul was happy to see the albiness content, but he knew what he had to do.

_I must tell the others_, he thought as he made his way down the street.

**A/N:**

**So…things will be getting intense before they actually start doing so, I guess.**

**Shoutouts to** MonaTheGreat, florathecake, **and a mystery Guest for the reviews! I love the imaginative suggestions regarding ships and plot twists, so I thank you all for that.**

**Fun fact:**_Naya lies about being Polish while having dinner with the Motts. Why? Because the 1950s was NOT a good time to admit Russian ancestry. After World War II, many displaced Soviets (like Naya) who immigrated to the United States faked their ethnicity, pretending to be from another group of Slavic origin, like Polish, Czech, Serbian, Croatian, etc. If, however, they were found out to be Russian, they would be deported back to the USSR __and to any of these three fates: imprisonment, exile to Siberia, or execution._

**Stay tuned for the next chapter! Feel free to Favorite, Follow, and leave a Review!**

**Thanks and happy reading! :)**


	12. Chapter 12

"You wanted me?" Jimmy asked as he entered the great tent late the following night.

Paul and his distinctively short arms, visible in the waning moonlight, were present. Due to the business of the carnies with Elsa's birthday festivities, he had not gotten the chance to meet with him and tell him what he had seen through the shop window the day before. His blue eyes were clear as Jimmy drew closer to his fellow carnie and friend, paying close attention to what he had to say.

"It doesn't bother you how Naya just _seemed_ to run off like Elsa _said_ she did?" the man with seal-like appendages asked him. Jimmy shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't catch on until yesterday. Something _is_ up with this whole thing," the handsome younger man said, his dark eyes looking at Paul. "Maybe she wasn't all that happy here." Jimmy leaned in. "In all honesty, she seemed out of touch with reality. She'd stare into space and spend hours by herself. She never smiled at things people would think is funny. Very weird."

"Oh, I saw her smiling just yesterday during my trip to town," Paul said; Jimmy's eyes widened suddenly, his jaw nearly dropping with shock.

"_What?!_"

"I was walking, and something caught my attention from the corner of my eye, and there I see Naya through the shop window with a man," Paul explained. "He looked like that same weirdo who bought out all the seats a wee while back."

"_Dandy_?" Jimmy asked with incredulity.

"I believe it _was _him I saw. He was kissing her hands," Paul added. "_Kissing her hands_! I'm not surprised if he was buying all of those things for her. I saw a big stack of boxes that almost went to the ceiling! And Naya, oh…" He shook his head, pursing his lips inward, "she smiled! Holding the skirt of the dress out and modeling it for him like a showgirl. She smiled like she got the life zapped back into her!"

Jimmy looked at him with horror; _what the hell_, he thought to himself over and over.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "But how the _hell_ did she get to _him_?!"

"Think about it for a second," Paul rationalized. "Elsa was taking her out dress-shopping, if I remember correctly. The seamstress. I remember her mentioning it. I even spotted them going in her car. Naya was in the back." The seal-armed man leaned closer to speak quietly as Jimmy listened. "Elsa _hated_ her from the minute she danced that night. Remember? The _Swan Lake_ song she danced to? Remember all the attention Naya got after the show? The audience was raving! Elsa _hates_ that! She takes her out and leaves her _somewhere _and the Hollywood guy wants her agai—"

_SMACK!_

"You shut your mouth!" Jimmy barked, sounding like a mad dog at the end of his chain as he smacked Paul. "Elsa saved every one of us! Don't talk about her like that! She saved you, me, and even _Naya_!"

Yet he was actually also angry about what he had heard about Naya with a man. His heart turned green with resentment.

"You know your problem?"

"You can pass, Jimmy," Paul replied, gritting his teeth slightly. "When no one's pretending, all the bullshit and the noise just drops away. From _your_ position, Elsa looks like our guardian angel, but from where _I_'m sitting, I see a jealous broad near the end of the line who'd kill _anyone_ or any_thing_ that got in the way of her _one last shot_ at it."

* * *

_Meow!_

Naya gasped upon opening the cylindrical gift box wrapped in regency blue paper to see a plump cat with yellowish-golden almond eyes and a silver-blue coat. Dandy had helped her by holding the box to allow her to take the cat from the box and into her arms. She smiled, showing her imperfect teeth in a hauntingly glad smile as the cat began to get accustomed in the arms of its new owner.

"Aw!" she exclaimed.

"Russian Blue," Dandy claimed. "Purebred. We paid $2000 for her."

"Her?"

"Yes, it is a female," Dandy repeated. "What will you name her?"

Naya thought for a moment as she let the feline sniff her pale while hand while purring. She sighed, thinking of the first name that came to mind.

"Sofie," she said.

"Sofie," Dandy smiled, unfolding the newspaper to skim the front page before leaning to pat the cat's head. "We'll get a custom collar made just for you."

Dandy got a better look at the front page, looking for an interesting article to make conversation about. Meanwhile, Naya took a raspberry from her bowl of fruit and fed it to her new cat. He watched her, admiring how her shoulder-length white hair cascaded down the front. She was wearing the sapphire blue dress adorned with two ribbons centered with mini pearls that he had purchased for her while out shopping for new, more stylish clothing. He spared no expense—Naya remembered him saying that he spent close to $3000 on only the finest garments.

"Hm," Dandy muttered, tossing the newspaper behind him. "Boring as ever."

Naya remained silent, looking down and stroking the cat's back.

"But you look lovely in blue," he said.

"I never wore blue," Naya said, the cat resting in her lap on top of the satin fabric of her dress' skirt.

"Now, you can," he smiled. "It looks beautiful on you. Green also is beautiful on you. _You_ are beautiful."

Beautiful—the word struck Naya as shocking. She remembered overhearing Jimmy call her "pretty" in his dialogue with Dandy as he begged to join the troupe. Yes, she had been called graceful and sylph-like after performances by the audience member, but never beautiful. Beautiful was a word that had not existed for so long, at least until that moment; the cat crawled out of her lap and walked in circles on the stone floor as Dandy reached to hold her hand in his, kissing it as his light blue eyes gazed into her violet ones.

"Will you do the honor of being my escort to cotillion this weekend?" Dandy asked. Naya smiled, her eyes curious as she tried to repeat the strange word.

"C-Cotillion?" she asked.

"Yes. It's a dance," Dandy grinned intently, resting his chin in his hand. "You get to wear a beautiful gown and meet other fine ladies who would be happy to make your acquaintance. It is held in Caesar's. It is a dance venue."

"Dance?" Naya smiled.

"Yes."

"Will there be both women and men?" she asked shyly.

"Yes, but I will be the man you dance with, of course," he said charmingly. "It is only us fine upper-class folk with a few exceptions." There was a moment of silence before he continued. "You will be the belle of the ball."

Naya was surprised when Dandy leaned in and stared into her eyes briefly before kissing her, starting out gently before getting gradually more passionate. He felt her returning his kiss, even though she was slow to respond. She felt her heart racing slightly, but Dandy broke the kiss before it could escalate, and he smiled grandly at her.

_He kissed me_, she thought happily, _he actually kissed me_.

* * *

The following morning, Eve and Paul accompanied Jimmy, who stood behind the microphone waiting for the correct measure of the low-pitched, grungy-sounding music came on. He looked clean and sharp in a dark green button-up shirt, and once the guitar softened to a bass, he began to croon into the microphone:

"_Load up on guns, bring your friends  
It's fun to lose and to pretend  
She's over bored and self assured  
Oh no, I know a dirty word_

_Hello, hello, hello, how low…hello, hello, how low…"_

Elsa had been sitting in the audience, looking up at Jimmy condescendingly as he performed his ruckus of a rehearsal. _This is what he wants to do_, she asked herself, _he better think twice_. Jimmy suddenly had a tone change—channeling his anger and fury, he growled out the chorus:

"_With the lights out, it's less dangerous  
Here we are now, entertain us  
I feel stupid and contagious  
Here we are now, entertain us  
A mulatto, an albino!  
A mosquito, my libido!_

_YEAH_!"

After a lengthy guitar solo, Jimmy felt the music and channeled his feelings into it by incorporating intense footwork and movement of the microphone stand until it fell to the stage floor. Elsa was annoyed and aggravated with a headache by the end, and she waved her hand in the air to dismiss the thought of him screaming and growling on stage.

"_Nein, nein_," she muttered to herself.

"This is how I'm doing it," Jimmy persisted, hearing her words. "Tonight. Mid-show number."

"Ha!" she snorted. "Do you _really_ think I would let you zap the energy of the audience with that…that _ruckus_?"

"I'm not changing anything," the young man replied, sounding testy. "That's how I'm doing it. That's the song."

"Remember to whom you are speaking," Elsa sneered, standing up and walking closer to the stage.

"I know EXACTLY who I'm speaking to!" Jimmy barked, his blood boiling as he thought of Naya and how she seemed to have disappeared along with the allegations Paul had realized when going into town; he thought about it more and knew Elsa had a hand in it. "A LIAR! We don't take orders from liars!"

"What is this, huh?" Elsa asked with disbelief. "What is this?"

"It's Naya, Elsa," Jimmy said, taking a rough leap from the stage and walking toward her menacingly. "We know what you did to her!"

"I told you she ran off!" the German retorted, fluffing her golden, tightly-curled coif.

"Yeah, yeah," Jimmy dismissed crudely. "We heard your story. Now it's time to hear hers!"

He rushed to the bench where his leather jacket was and he threw it on his back quickly.

"I'm going to find her and bring her back here!"

Jimmy followed his better judgment by first stopping at Mott Manor, home of Dandy, his mother Gloria, and now Naya. Upon arrival, he got off his motorcycle and walked up to the door with worry in his heart; what if Naya had indeed run off by her own free will? Worse yet, what if Elsa had done something heinous to her in order to regain her spotlight? He went to the front door, quite large in size compared to the even bigger mansion, ringing the bell and waiting a few moments for an answer. Gloria had come to the door, her lazy eye diverting into space as she looked at the charming, handsome young man with deformed hands.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Jimmy, still feeling resentment and anger, took a cut-off breath before answering.

"I'm here to see your son," he said. "I'm a friend of his."

"You're mistaken," Gloria said, shaking her head. "My son has no friends."

Yet Dandy's attention was fully on Jimmy, who stood outside the door with his mother to greet their new company. Jimmy waved one of his severely deformed hands at him casually upon seeing him dressed in an orange-red shade with matching slacks.

"Hey, it's Jimmy!" he called out. "Remember me? I'm from the freak show." Dandy nodded slowly.

"Let him in, mother," the man-boy ordered. "He's here for Naya."

* * *

The albiness had been in the strange, eerie playroom Dandy had for so many years; sadly, his mother insisted he keep all his toys. She was sitting on a wide ottoman holding her cat Sofie as it purred in her lap—luckily, Dandy had made sure she was fed and given a chance to go to the litter box. Jimmy was lead to the room, and upon seeing Naya, she nearly took a sigh of relief; she was safe and unharmed, sitting there contently with the Russian blue purring in her lap with an occasional meow. Her unusual pale features were as beautiful and striking as he remembered them—shoulder-length stark white hair with a blunt fringe; thin, almost absent eyebrows from their light color; full, platinum eyelashes that framed her intense violet-colored eyes; a facial bone structure cut like glass, especially her cheekbones. Her outfit consisted of a black dress that reached past the knees with frilly long sleeves and a high neck adorned with a whalebone cameo brooch. Resting on her head was looked like a small black veil with a black fabric flower. Jimmy approached her as Dandy began to talk to him, but he paid no mind to it and crouched down at Naya's feet as if she were a queen; she gasped at the sight of him once again and looked up at Dandy.

"Naya, this young man was concerned about your welfare," he said coldly. Her eyes met with Jimmy's dark ones, as they were full of concern and worry, yet he was relieved that she was not harmed.

"Huh?"

"Hell yes, I am. How'd you get here?" Jimmy asked with concern.

"They are taking care of me," Naya replied, her soft Slavic accent calming him even though what he was hearing was unreal by all accounts. Dandy cut in, and Jimmy listened attentively with a confused look on his face.

"We took her in. She was malnourished, body and soul," the prim man claimed. "I kept my promise to give her anything her heart desires. Need I say more? Or do you need a more _detailed_ explanation?"

_Asshole_, Jimmy thought as he recognized the sarcastic tone in his voice. He gazed up at Naya with a certain longing in his eyes, and she gazed back to see if he would say anything.

"Naya, I know this seems like the life of Riley, but this is no place for you," Jimmy said with a soft tone in his voice; the last thing he wanted was for Dandy to get angry and do something drastic. "Because to them, you're nothing more than a curiosity." He lowered to a whisper. "They don't care about you like we do."

"Oh, because after all, being in a troupe of freaks doesn't mean being gawked at," Dandy sneered coldly, diverting Naya's attention up to him. Jimmy was getting aggravated and looked back at Dandy with gritted teeth.

"Don't call us freaks!" he said harshly.

"Dandy?" Naya asked, her accent making his name sound like something Jimmy could laugh at; in English, it was a strange name for a grown man anyway. "What can I do? I don't want to go back with them! Please!"

Jimmy felt crushed—the thought of not seeing Naya everyday made him sick to his stomach. Sure, what he said about her was true regarding her frequent episodes of solitude or seeming distant, but he knew he would miss her. Something inside him told him to keep trying to convince her.

"Naya, please," the young man said, looking up at her sadly. "You have us to protect you. I'm taking you back to the camp. You'll be safe, and—"

"You think being under the watch of Elsa is better than here?" Naya asked bluntly, staring at Jimmy with her blind eye twitching. "She lied to me. She promised me to mentor me only to try and dump me out of town. I got out of that car and walked to town. This man found me. I live here now, so you may go back, now."

"_What_?!" Jimmy asked, looking at Naya with shock. "But how—"

"She promised to mentor me, which I found strange enough," the albiness continued. "She not only cannot dance, but sounds like a broken flute. Then she promises me to take me to a dressmaker. We drive all around twice before almost leaving town." She sighed. "I came here myself. I chose to be here."

"Naya…"

"Well, Mr. Darling, I hope you enjoyed your brief visit," Dandy said with a fake smile. "Time to go now."

"I'm taking Naya with me," Jimmy stated boldly. "Away from _you_!"

"STOP!" Dandy screeched, tears coming from his eyes; the loudness startled Naya and made the cat hiss. "You're ruining everything!"

It was at that moment when Naya noticed that his tantrum was like that of a young child. Being in that room, a playroom meant for a child, made her slightly muddled with her thinking as she looked at Jimmy, admiring his built form in his leather biker jacket as he looked down at her, hoping she would change her mind and come back with him to the freak show.

"You and Elsa can fix your problems," Jimmy said. "Just please, come back with me? You decide, though."

"You don't have a say around here!" Dandy shouted, collapsing to Naya's knees and holding her hand with bluish fingertips, calming himself down. "Please, Naya. Stay with me here. I get very lonely. I can continue to make you the happiest woman on earth. I would buy you the moon if it meant being in your company forever. Please, live in luxury with me here? Please?"

_I'm torn_, Naya thought, _what am I to do_?

**A/N:**

**Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys! But if you've read my other works on here, suspense is my forte. **

**Please leave a ****Review****, ****Favorite ****and ****Follow****! I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions! I also appreciate the favorites and follows I've been getting, so thank you!**

**Thank you and happy reading/writing! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

She was at a loss for all but three words; Jimmy's fiercely protective nature and Dandy's tendency for tantrums muddled her thinking, but through it all, she found herself saying three fateful words.

"I stay here."

Jimmy gasped in shock, rising back to his feet as he bit his lower lip contemptuously at Dandy, who grinned at the albiness with excessive pride. Yet Naya was still torn and saw the expression on Jimmy's face—she actually felt somewhat bad for him. Her house-host stepped in with a second bit of sniding commentary, crossing his arms over his chest complacently.

"There you have it. She is happy here," the man with dark hair smiled. "You may take your leave. Hopefully, we will see you at cotillion this weekend."

He indeed took his leave from the room, but the door was still ajar. He tip-toed quietly to the door to hear for dialogue between the albiness and the spoiled-rotten man-boy. Jimmy listened carefully as he heard Naya's voice, its soft, Slavic accent breaking the silence.

"Do you believe he will come?" _Hell yes, I would_, Jimmy thought quietly.

"Naya, a cotillion is only for the wealthy. People like us," Dandy replied. "He is far too poor and therefore _unfit_ to attend such an event." _Asshole_, Jimmy thought as he continued to listen to them.

Yet there was no sign of a conversation continuing, so he stepped away from the door and walked out of the house and drove away on his motorcycle, leaving Naya and Dandy to their own devices. He sure was angry and eager to tell the others about his success in finding her. Naya's mind had snapped out of reality, remembering what it was like to be destitute herself. Life in the Soviet Union had not been enjoyable, as she remembered it. She could never go back now:

* * *

**_Stalingrad, USSR_**

**_1939_**

_They could not afford a radio, yet a radio would be full of the communist propaganda of the era in their vastly large nation. Dmitri was not expecting the children to be home from school until another half hour—Alexei was in a Komsomol meeting while Oksana, Katyenka, Evgeniya, and Nikolai were in school. His wife Nadiya had been working long hours, and his mother in-law had taken the family's low earnings grocery shopping. Dmitri was in between jobs and unemployed at that moment, waiting for his interview at another factory. He pulled out his private bottle of vodka and poured it in his own medium-sized glass, taking a few sips before substituting the presence of a radio with his slurring, incoherent voice, singing almost at the top of his lungs:_

_"_Soyuz nerushimyy respublik svobodnykh  
Splotila naveki Velikaya Rus'.  
Da zdravstvuyet sozdannyy voley narodov  
Yedinyy, moguchiy Sovetskiy Soyuz!"

_He took a pause, taking another sip of the strong liquor._

"Slavsya, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoye,

Druzhby narodov nadyozhnyy oplot,

Znamya Sovetskoye, znamya narodnoye

Pust' ot pobedy k pobede vedyot!"

_Meanwhile, Katyenka was walking home with her two sisters and younger brother. It was lightly snowing, but the four were used to the frigid conditions wearing only wool sweaters knitted for them by their grandmother. The young albino girl held her books to her chest and looked at Oksana, whose chin-length, rich auburn-brown hair swayed in the wind. As snowflakes caught in her stark white hair, little Nikolai, only four years old and in an early childhood education program, keep running up to his older sister and tapping her thin brown skirt._

_"__Katyenka," he sounded, his voice sounding small. "You're like snow!"_

_"__I know," the young albiness said._

_"_Babushka _may be making food for us tonight," Oksana cut in, her starry blue eyes looking into her sister's large violet ones. "I have not eaten since Monday."_

_"__Two days?" Katyenka asked. "Mama made soup yesterday, though."_

_"__I know. I just…was not hungry." Katyenka stopped and listened to her sister's voice—granted, most nights they had as little as bread and tasteless soup to eat or as nothing as nothing itself but she was shocked. Oksana ate her food to the last bite whenever it was offered to her._

_"__Huh?"_

_"_Babushka _makes better food," Oksana said._

_"__I remember she made sweet cake," Evgeniya recalled. Katyenka shook her head—many times, when their grandmother tried to cook a wholesome meal, she was lacking with one ingredient or another due to the low wages her family made._

_"__I wonder when we can be able to have food every night," the young albiness sighed sadly as the cold wind began to pick up; the snowfall became more intense somehow. Somehow the cold was better than being hungry._

* * *

"He said something called 'cotillion,'" Jimmy said to Paul and Eve an hour after his arrival back to the grounds.

Worry was afoot, and once the young man addressed the issue, they were all relieved that she was safe—Elsa had no words, not even a facial expression showing concern or happiness. Now, Jimmy was sitting beneath an open tent with his two fellow carnies and friends—Paul looked peculiar holding a small bottle of whiskey in his seal-like arms, and the abnormally-tall Eve sat across from him with her long legs crossed over one another. The look on his face really concerned her, even though she was relieved about Naya being unharmed.

"What's that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Jimmy replied, shrugging his shoulders as he shook his head.

"It's a dance for the rich," Paul interjected. "Are you thinking we should go there?"

"I don't know," Jimmy repeated. "I suppose if one of us goes, we can see Naya."

"Good idea," Eve said with a nod. "But who would you go with?"

"Not sure."

"Well, you can't go alone," Paul advised. "Take someone from here. Someone…close your age."

Jimmy knew only one other person who fit this description—Maggie, the secretive fortune teller who had rejected his advances the night they had a full house. It also made him remember how Naya had done the same, and even went as far as pushing him away and holding the lower half of his face.

"Yeah, what about Maggie?" Eve suggested.

"No, no," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "It's not a bad idea, but she rejected me. I ain't asking her."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Paul asked. "It's only for a night and I know she'd understand—"

"Did I just hear my name?"

The three carnies turned to see Maggie standing at the entrance of the open tent, her thin arms crossed over her chest as she gazed at them with her soft, glassy hazel eyes. She was wearing a short-sleeved peach cardigan with a forest green skirt and matching shoes. Her curling blonde hair was in the usual style with one side pulled back and her fringe swept to the same side. Jimmy just stared at her and how attractive she was even though she was not as striking or unique as Naya.

"Oh, uh…" Jimmy was speechless; he hated these situations.

"He wants to take you to a cotillion," Paul blurted.

"Stop!" Jimmy said forcefully with a blush as she came closer and put one of her hands on his broad shoulders, accentuated by the shine of his black leather jacket.

"I would go," Maggie said with a smile; Eve noticed it was rather sly.

"R-Really?" Jimmy asked, looking up at her with incredulity.

"Yeah. All you need is a suit. I have a dress," the young woman said, taking her hands off Jimmy's shoulders. "When is it?"

"I heard something about this weekend," he said.

"Well, I guess I'll see you then, or _before_ then," Maggie replied.

As she left, Jimmy looked at the doorway for a few extra seconds before being budged by Paul and his short arms. His dark brown eyes diverted toward him and saw him looking at him curiously. Eve sighed, biting her lower lip during the moment of mutual silence.

"What?" Jimmy asked, seeing them both look at him.

"You need a suit, so chop-chop," Eve said, clapping her hands with a smirk.

* * *

Caesar's, the venue in which the ball was taking place, had a lavish interior ballroom that was reminiscent of an 18th century European royal palace. There were four smaller chandeliers surrounding a much larger one in the center of the ceiling with an intricate design and real Austrian crystal tear droplets. There were stone balconies in between Greco-Roman-inspired arches that went all the way up to the gold-tone ceiling. A live arrangement playing classical tunes provided the music, and each couple came into the venue in the form of a succession—Naya was on the arm of Dandy, who smiled proudly and waved at random people. He was quite dapper in his black tuxedo with a matching bowtie his mother had fastened before they left the house.

Naya was overwhelmed by her lavish surroundings; Mott Manor didn't even come close to lighting a candle to the ballroom. Had a czar still existed, she would feel like entering his imperial ballroom. She was suggested by Dandy to wear a bright red evening gown that had a form-fitting, short-sleeved top with a modest back and front. A thin string of red ribbon was sewn beneath the bust, and it accentuated her average-sized bosom well enough to push it up and form cleavage. Her waist was defined well by the tightness of the dress, and the skirt was full and began where the bodice ended at the hips. On her hands, she wore white satin gloves that went up to the elbows, which not only blended into her skin color but hid the digits tattooed into her skin. She wore matching satin red pumps and white hose held up by garters. Her achromatic hair was pulled back in a twist after her bubble bath, including her fringe, by a stylist hired to come to the house, and her face was adorned with crimson lipstick and black mascara to make her white eyelashes look normal for a night. To complete her evening look, Dandy had gifted her an expensive necklace inlaid with rubies in a gold framework and along the strands that held it on her neck.

Despite help in her attempt to look normal and not like the "freakish" albino she had been born as, there were many stares in her direction; most of them were of spite or fear, and many had even picked up the pace to get away from her and Dandy.

Meanwhile, Jimmy had to rely on Maggie to smooth-talk their way through, as they had not received a formal invitation. Her claim was that her invitation was at home, but then another couple allowed them in with their false claim: "They're with us." Jimmy shook his head, still with Maggie's arm in his and facing forward with determined dark brown eyes. _Naya should be easy to spot_, he thought as the couple who falsely claimed accompaniment to the cotillion followed close behind and socialized with Maggie. However, it was no easy task—so many people had already been congregated in a large group that seemed to be taking up the entire ballroom, champagne flutes in their hands as they laughed and talked about random subjects. What he didn't know that Naya had been with Dandy, being introduced to some of the other socialites from the Palm Beach area toward the middle of the ballroom.

"Don't be nervous, Naya," Dandy said to her, looking down into her violet eyes. "You are one of us now. You are privileged."

She remained silent, her eyes looking at women in evening gowns and men in suits and tuxedos clear the way subtly in fear.

"I did not allow my mother to come for a reason," Dandy said, trying to make conversation.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted this special time with you," he replied with a charming smile. "Would you care for some champagne?"

"Yes."

"One moment. I'll be back," he said as he walked away toward the refreshments table to retrieve champagne.

She remained in one place, watching attentively at her surroundings. The women in attendance were like flowers—different colors of dresses on their diverse shapes and sizes. The men, however, were all uniform but diverse in legal age. No one seemed to pay attention to her, but little did she know that she had been spotted by Jimmy, who was not far from Maggie as she socialized with a few strangers. A glance of the stark, white color of her hair and skin was enough to make him keep looking until he saw her in full—he glanced back at Maggie to make sure she was distracted with her mingling as he made his way over to the lone albiness in the middle of the ballroom. He was stopped when he saw Dandy, dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo, brought her a champagne flute while holding one for himself. Naya suddenly glanced in the direction Jimmy had snuck through, and thought she had seen a hint of his excessively-gelled brown curls. Dandy had caught her staring into space.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Oh…uh, yes," Naya replied, taking a sip of her champagne and sucking at her teeth in response to the strange flavor.

"The dance should be starting soon," he said. "Have you done any other forms of dance?"

"Huh?"

"Other than ballet, I mean," Dandy corrected himself.

"No."

"Watch the others," he suggested. "You will get used to it. It will be smooth."

A female voice speaking into a microphone announced the beginning of the first dance within fifteen minutes of his suggestion to Naya. During that time, it was unbeknownst to her that Jimmy had been keeping a close eye on the albiness from a distance, despite being in Maggie's company.

"At this time, approach your partners. The first dance is about to begin," the lady said in a peppy- energetically shrill voice. Maggie looked up at Jimmy persuasively.

"That's us!" she whispered.

"Are you sure?" he asked with confusion.

"Yeah, stupid," she joked. "Let's go."

Fortunate for Jimmy, his deformed hands were gloved even though his gloves did not match the suit he was given. The two approached the dance floor, and once they saw Naya with Dandy, Jimmy gasped at her dress choice and how it looked against her stark white skin. It reminded him of a rose against silken white fabric, smooth and pure; her hair was in a style he had never seen before, and her lips and eyelashes were made up to compliment her ensemble. The rubies sparkling in the framework of her expensive, authentic necklace only added to her newfound glamour, and he found it hard to keep his eyes off her.

The music began, and Jimmy watched in the distance, while dancing with the secretive fortune teller, at Naya being shown how to dance in the correct form by the prim man-boy. She can dance ballet but not like this, he thought to himself as he watched her pick up the movements quickly. Jimmy counted in his head, glancing down at her satin heels, counting in his head—_one, two, three_…._one, two three_… Maggie furrowed her eyebrows in and shook her head.

"Jimmy, what are you looking at?" she asked.

"Oh, uh…" He exchanged a glance with the attractive young woman and then looked at Naya, biting his lower lip.

"Is there another girl here you'd rather dance with?" she assumed.

"Well, you're a fortune teller," Jimmy said, looking down into her eyes as they danced. "Can't you tell my intentions?"

"That's the problem!" Maggie exclaimed softly. "I know _every_ guy's intentions."

"Well, sassy, lucky for you," Jimmy said with a trembling lower lip, "you're not my type."

"What? A pretty face isn't your type?" Maggie sneered. Jimmy chuckled and shook his head as she continued. "Or is someone who is willing to kiss you back at random your type?"

"What's the difference?" Jimmy asked, glancing over to see a bunch of people in front of his line of vision in his search for Naya. "You've probably decided about me. What's the big idea?"

"I _have_ decided about you," she said, stopping their dance so she could look up at him. "I think…I think you are _probably_ my type."

"Well, well," Jimmy chided.

"You're a hero, you know," Maggie replied emphatically. "You know…" She hesitated her next words. "We should run away together. We could be in Miami by tomorrow. We could leave all this behind. I don't care where we go, as long as I'm with you."

Jimmy moved back at step and shook his head with disbelief—he had obligations with the freak show. Why was she all of a sudden trying to pull him away from the moments he had cherished admiring Naya?

"Jesus," he muttered. "Way to spoil a good night with rich folk. Are you for real?"

"Yes."

"I can't just leave now, Maggie," he said as he shook his head. "I know I have said I wanted to leave the troupe, but…" He shook his head, and she had some tears forming in her eyes, "they're my family. I could never just act on _everything_ I say or think."

"What?" Maggie sounded tearful, and Jimmy actually felt bad for her.

"Maggie, you have to understand. I can't just leave everything and ride into the sunset. I mean, you're a really pretty girl but…" He saw her wipe her eyes, makeup running down the outer corner, "I need you to understand what I mean. The freak show is my family. There is a lot of…" He stared off into space again—Naya had once again come back into view before he looked down at her, "unfinished business I have to take care of, alright?"

Maggie looked down and furrowed her lips downward into a frown, and Jimmy sighed with sympathy, realizing he probably had broken the millionth heart he had come across during his relatively short life. However, a bump to his back relieved his worries as he turned around to see that the back of Naya's crimson evening dress had brushed against him. Dandy, however, was reluctant to stop the dance but did anyways just to act cordial toward the other couple.

"Ah, if it isn't Mr. Darling," the prim man-boy smiled, Naya's pale white hand with bluish fingertips in his hand. Jimmy was focused on the albiness and her striking, moon-white beauty. "I…didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, I came," Jimmy said; he paused for a moment. "Hello, Naya."

"Hello," she said. Maggie looked at the albiness with resentment, biting her bright red lower lip.

"I didn't know she was with _you_," Maggie said facetiously. "We've missed her at camp."

"She will be back to visit soon, I'm hoping," Dandy smiled, turning his eyes to the albiness. "Naya? Walk with me, if you please."

As they walked away and made their way through the dense crowd of formally-dressed guests of the cotillion, she looked back at Jimmy and smiled sadly; unlike the smiles she had born around Dandy when he showered her with expensive gifts, this was a closed smile that looked more like a frown. Maggie glared at her fellow carnie and felt angrier than a mob with a monster. She wanted nothing more than to spit in Naya's face or tear her stark-white hair out of her scalp.

When Naya faced forward, she realized Dandy was leading her up the grand staircase and to the left to one of the balconies overlooking the people dancing out below in the ballroom. They stopped when Dandy was pretty sure Jimmy wasn't looking up or following them with his eyes and looked out like a king among his people; they were the only ones on that particular balcony, and Naya gasped at the sight of colorful evening gowns and black tuxedos.

"Look at all of them," Dandy smiled excitedly, "_look_ at _all_ of _them_!"

Naya remained silent, looking down to see Jimmy, his distinctive, excessively-gelled hair sticking out like a sore thumb among neatly slicked-back pompadours. He was looking around again to catch a glimpse of Naya to watch her with his protective gaze as he had been the entire evening since seeing her.

"Naya?"

She turned her lilac-colored eyes to him attentively, remaining silent.

"I had you walk with me. Sometimes being alone is only best for what I am about to ask you," he said with a closed grin.

Naya's eyes grew curious as she watched him reach into the inside of his suit jacket.

"Naya…"

She gasped at the sight of a gold-banded ring with a sapphire solitaire and diamonds set into the band; their eyes met, and his blue orbs looked hopeful and proud.

"…it would make me the happiest man alive if you had the honor of being my bride. My question is this—will you marry me?"

Naya was speechless, but remained silent until she found herself nodding.

"Y-Yes…"

Her mutter had made it official.

* * *

He carried her to the car and out upon arrival at Mott Manor—bridal style. She was lighter than he previously thought, and she was wearing his ring on her left hand. As soon as his personal maid opened the door, Gloria had also been present wearing her satin bathrobe over her coordinating nightgown with slippers. She gasped at the sight of her son's excessive happiness and pride, holding his newly betrothed.

"Dandy-dear? How was cotillion?" she asked.

"I have gotten myself a bride, mother," Dandy smirked, putting Naya back on her feet. She looked over at Gloria, who took her hand to see the ring her son had purchased with their enormous fortune, seeing the new sapphire gleam in the light of the chandelier.

_Finally_, she thought, _we can have a baby in the house. I'm so excited!_

**A/N:**

**Thank you to everyone who has kept up with this story so far! FUN FACT: I originally intended for it to be fifteen chapters but I guess at this rate, it won't happen. Nu-uh.**

**Everyone appreciates feedback, so leave a Review, Favorite and Follow!**

**Thank you so much to all my readers! :3**


	14. Chapter 14

A few days later, Naya woke up to the sound of drills and thuds. She pulled the covers back and stepped her white, bare feet on the stone floor of the lavish guest bedroom and made her way over the fluffy bear-fur rug to the door and opened it. Stepping out into the hallway, she could hear a pleading, shrill voice, that of Gloria as if she were addressing her son. Dandy's responses were proud, boisterous, and forceful—Naya drew closer and heard them clearer.

"Dandy, why did you get rid of all your toys?"

"Mother, I am a grown man. I got engaged to be married. I've been planning this renovation since she came to live here."

"Couldn't you have saved the toy horse for my future grandchildren?"

"Babies are boring. Do not expect me to have them."

There was the sound of drilling.

"Yes, mirrors all along this wall, sir."

"I never agreed to have you destroy this room like this."

A thud came to Naya's ears.

"Yes. Put that there."

"A dance studio?" Gloria had asked. "Oh, dear Lord."

"My bride needs a place to dance! I promised her to give her everything in the world she could ever want. What dancer wouldn't want her own studio?"

"How much is this coming to, Dandy-dear?"

"That does not make a difference," Dandy retorted. Naya, at this point, slinked behind as she watched men carrying toys out of the room; full-length, borderless mirrors and ballet barres came in.

"Yes, it does. I thought you had fun in your little playroom." Gloria sounded sad.

"Not anymore, mother. This room belongs to her, now."

There was a pause and the sound of drilling—Naya listened closely.

"So, when are you going to make an appointment for a bridal fitting?"

"Whenever it is appropriate, dear."

"Well, within the next two weeks, she better have a wedding gown and veil. I plan to wed her in four months time."

* * *

At the freak show, they had faced another tragic, albeit unexpected loss. There were strange circumstances around the loss of Ma Petit, the smallest, most beloved member of the troupe. Jimmy, Dell, Eve, Paul, and the rest of the carnies all went into the woods outside the boundary of the grounds just after sundown, and it was Jimmy who came across a mangled, soiled dress that looked as though it belonged to her. He let out a scream.

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHH_!"

The dress was brought back in a box after Eve gave her theory—the animals had eaten her, bones and all, she thought. The beloved carnie was so small, so innocent, so beautiful, so adorable—it was so hard to believe that she was gone from them so soon. As the tearful troupe members returned with what remained of Ma Petit's disappearance, Elsa nearly had a heart attack, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe or think clearly. She took the bright pink, soiled dress and cried into it.

"Oh, _nein_…." the German cried. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no." She took the dress to her face and let it absorb her tears. "_Mein gott_….oh, no, no."

Yet Ethel was the only one convinced that Elsa may have had a part in her death. _It was staged_, she thought as she made her way to her suite-style tent later that evening with a silver tray of homemade food. Upon entering, she saw Elsa smoking from her opium hookah and blowing out smoke while lounging back, tears dried to her aged face.

"Gee," the bearded lady said, "I thought you'd be high as a Limehouse whore by now."

"She was too good for this place," Elsa whined. "God took his brightest light and put it into that little angel." She got tearful again, sighing as she wiped her eyes.

"Elsa," Ethel began, placing the tray on the dining table in her suite tent. "Sit. Eat. I made mock turtle soup." She took a pause. "We…we'll mourn her."

"Christmas is cancelled," Elsa stated, moving over toward the dining table sluggishly before sitting down and removing the dome to let the steam from the soup rise. Ethel looked at her spitefully—_now is my chance_, she thought.

"That was quite a show you put on in that tent," Ethel said, catching the German's attention. "Regular Joan Fontaine. I've seen you bring a full house to their feet, but you have _never_ been better than you were tonight. You have got it, Elsa Mars. The sobs over Ma Petite. Clutchin' her bloody dress…" Elsa rose to her feet, feeling her blood boil like venom in a serpent's teeth. "That was a nice touch. Bit of a house note, but damn I almost believed you meant it."

_SLAP!_

Ethel couldn't believe what her best friend had done—Elsa had slapped her hard across the face, channeling her anger.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" she screeched hoarsely. "SHE WAS MY MOST PRECIOUS ONE!"

"The only thing precious to you is the _spotlight_, Elsa," Ethel chided.

"You know, I have seen the way whiskey can ravage the mind, but you come in here tonight and you accuse me of what? Of killing _innocence itself_? Huh? GET OUT!" Elsa screamed. Yet Ethel did not leave the tent; she remained there to speak up more.

"I've brought you your tray, washed your hair, listened to all those tall tales about what was, what could have been," she explained. "I heard those stories ten times over, Elsa. I know you better than you know yourself. I always wondered why. I loved you so much, but it gave me such pain to be around you. How when I'd leave here at night I'd just felt like I lost something. A woman shouldn't dread spending time with her best friend. Why'd I feel so uneasy? Now I know."

Elsa's hazel eyes darted at the bearded lady harshly.

"If I'm not your savior, then what am I? Huh?" she asked viciously. "You call me a murderer on a night when I have already lost _so much_? This is the thanks I get?! Damn you for this! Goddamn you for this! DAMN YOU!"

"You were our mother. There's people around here who never even met theirs. You understand the pain of being rejected by your own mother? _Of course you do_!" Ethel said emphatically. "That's how you sucked us all in here." Her tone became mocking. "Come one, come all, suckle at Elsa's bosom. All are welcome, just don't ask for top billin'."

"Enough!" Elsa spat. "I have killed _no one_!"

"Oh, what about Naya?" Ethel asked. "Sure, she's unharmed and in a new home, but you _deceived_ her! It's no wonder she ain't gonna wanna come back here! Not even to _visit_! I've seen the looks on my poor boy's face, Eve's face, Paul's face. Hell, _everyone_'s face! They miss her, Elsa! The moment she graced your stage, you've _hated_ her _guts_! And why?" Ethel paused for a moment, looking at her with spiteful, hurt blue eyes. "Because she could catch the light better than _you_ ever could."

Ethel then proceeded to take out a revolver, black and shiny, barely used with the chamber containing three bullets. Elsa looked down at it, taking a tearful sigh before looking at Ethel and her auburn-brown beard.

"My, my," the German muttered. "Well, you got me, copper. Huh?" She chuckled sinisterly. "Guilty as charged." She cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, shaking her head. "Yes, I wanted that albino freak to be gone, but I never hurt anyone. I never hurt her. I wanted to be rid of her for good. Put her on a train up north or a bus to Tampa. Although, for me, death would be preferable to Tampa." Elsa rose and walked toward the exit of her suite tent slowly, looking back at her and pointing her finger at the bearded lady. "And I will no longer suffer your _insults_ and your _insanity_! Apparently, I have lost _two_ old friends tonight."

_BANG!_

Ethel had shot a bullet at her leg, but it went through, forming the perfect hole. The bearded lady gasped, looking at her up and down with shock. _Prosthetics_, she thought.

"Oh, Ethel, you must be humiliated beyond belief," Elsa chuckled. "I'm just like all my children."

"W-Why didn't you tell me all this?" Ethel asked angrily. "Why did you keep it a secret from me? I was your confidante!"

"I was ashamed, embarrassed," Elsa said, sitting down on her plush sofa with Ethel across from her, still pointing the gun in her direction. "A sweet young soldier with a kind heart found me and brought me to my safety. His name was Massimo Dolcefino. He found his fame in the First World War when grenades became the great terror, separating soldiers from their limbs. With an almost unlimited supply of clients for his prosthetics, Massimo elevated his craft into art. But after the war, he fell on hard times. Massimo immigrated to Germany to work in the movies as a sculptor, a prop maker. It was there he met his greatest challenge: me." She paused. "So Ethel, you think you know me? Put the gun away."

"No, Elsa," Ethel scolded. "The curtain falls tonight."

"Who will cover for my murder, huh?" Elsa asked. "You think the others will be by your side?"

"The last bullet is for me," Ethel stated.

"Well, then," Elsa said. "Before you kill me, how about a Schnapps for the road, _ja_?"

Ethel seemed reluctant, but put the gun by her side and stood up and watched as Elsa made her way over to her cocktail table—she saw one of her throwing knives, eyeing it and contemplating her method before reaching for a flask of poison to put in her drink.

"I'm sorry, but you ain't goin' to Hollywood, Elsa," Ethel said, preparing to shoot the German; meanwhile, Elsa grabbed the throwing knife and replied slowly.

"And you won't be there with me."

She turned rapidly, and before Ethel had the chance to shoot her bullet, Elsa flung the throwing knife at the bearded lady, hitting her mark as it penetrated her eye with enough force to send her newly-dead body back onto the floor of her suite tent. Elsa looked down in horror, sighing and biting her lower lip.

_How can I stage a suicide_, she asked herself, _or stage a murder_?

Elsa had discreetly dragged Ethel's corpse out of the back entrance of her tent and to the woods. She wore all black, and made sure that all of the carnies were asleep or distracted doing their own thing. A burlap sack was used to cover the body until she got to the forest, setting it down and removing the sack as she grabbed her throwing knife and began to repeatedly stab the body, bloodying Ethel's simple frock and getting some in her beard before stopping. She looked down at her success at staging a murder by other means before walking back to the camp with the burlap sack.

As she soaked in a bubble bath to wash off any blood that had gotten on her skin or hair, she thought of what she did—a streak of guilt stained her soul.

* * *

_Knock-knock!_

Dandy's personal maid had welcomed in a guest to their home. She was a rather obese woman, African-American with a curling black bob with a forest green blazer and skirt that made her look more like a compressed sausage than casually dressed. Her cheeks were generous, and her eyes were small and dark. Her plump, white net-gloved hands held a leather, expensive purse in front of her as her low, chunky heels clacked against the floor. Naya got a glimpse of her as she walked by, noticing a sour look on her face; but Dandy looked at her and smiled casually.

"Ah, Regina!" he smiled. "It's so good to see you again! I have wonderful news."

"Is my mother back?" she asked—she had been referring to Dora, Dandy's personal maid before the one they recently had to hire. _I killed her_, he thought to himself, answering her in his head. Meanwhile, Gloria had entered, dressed stylishly per usual as she looked at her son and the plump young woman.

"You must have just missed her," the older woman said.

"Last she came, I told her that_you_ spoke to Dora last, mother," Dandy smiled. Naya peered at the three, keeping a safe distance in case anything escalated.

"Where is my mother?" Regina asked sternly.

"Yes, well Dora went to buy the squash," Gloria stated. Nays thought she sounded rather suspicious—how come I haven't been told about this Dora person, she thought.

"_Squash_?" Regina asked incredulously.

"You understand, dear. These days, the only way to procure a proper squash is to venture down to Homestead, to the Klingmans'," Gloria explained. "That horrid hurricane completely destroyed the Tabernathys' farm in Pompano, and it's been simply impossible to consume the squash from that region ever since."

"Squash?" Regina repeated. "Is that all?"

"Also, since she would be passing Coral Gables, I asked her to stop off to collect the blackamoor candelabras I had purchased at auction. So, you see, child, I could not venture to guess when Dora will return from her expedition."

"Well, I'll be waiting," Regina replied, looking over at the albiness and her stark white features. Dandy noticed, walking over to his fiancée and putting an arm over her shoulder.

"Meet my fiancée, Regina," Dandy smiled. "Naya Stolinski."

"Hello," Naya said politely, looking to Dandy and whispering. "W-Who is Regina?"

"She is our maid, Naya," Gloria said. "She is running errands, as I just explained to Regina."

"If my mother hasn't returned by the end of the week," Regina warned, "I will call the police."

"Now, wait just a moment—"

"I will wait for my mother's return," Regina said sternly. "I will return tomorrow."

* * *

The next day, the Christmas tree had been put up and decorated in the parlor; it was only the finest pine imported from Maine trimmed with globe ornaments, garland, lights and a star on the very top. Naya had just finished decorating it with Gloria, who wanted the bonding time with her future daughter in-law. By the sound of her speech, though, the albiness knew she wanted to talk with her about her son.

"I am so delighted that my son finally has found a bride," she said dreamily.

Naya remained silent, but nodded.

"Did he ask you at cotillion?" she questioned.

"Yes," Naya said.

"And are you happy here, child?" Gloria asked.

"Yes." Naya paused, sitting by her future mother in-law in one of the two folding chairs they had set up to decorate the tree together. "I have a home. But…" Gloria looked at her as she paused again, "I miss my friends at the show."

"Perhaps we can invite them to the wedding?" the older woman suggested. "I am certain they will have a fun time."

"Sounds…good," Naya said. "Will…Dandy care?"

"I plan on inviting some of my friends, as well," Gloria said, looking at one of the glass snowflake ornaments she had put on the tree.

"I do not believe your son likes them," Naya said.

"Who?"

"My friends from the show," the albiness replied. "But I do not want to invite Elsa to come. She was the reason I left. She lied to me. She tried to drive me away from town to dump me somewhere. A talent scout offered to take me to the big stage…to dance. It is my dream."

Gloria smiled at her and nodded, thinking of how well her son had treated the albiness since she had first come to live there. She was no longer inclined to look at her in fear or gasp when she entered a room unless she was dressed in such a way that it highlighted her pale beauty. Yet Dandy had an unusual, twisted side—Gloria was the only one who knew about it and kept it within the boundaries of Mott Manor.

"Dandy has always been a willful child," she said to her, changing the subject.

Naya looked at her and remained silent to listen attentively.

"I would have had him committed, but I cannot lose him," she continued. Naya gasped, looking at the older woman.

"Committed?" the albiness asked. "_Why_?"

"I raised Dandy as I was raised," Gloria explained cryptically. "He called for me once when he had a raging fever. I didn't go in his room. I was afraid I didn't know how to comfort him. So I sent his governess in. He never called for me again."

The older woman stood up and walked slowly to the window, fixing her skirt as Naya, her violet eyes curious and attentive, followed her while the cat Sofie pranced into the room and sat with her tail wagging in a relaxed manner.

"He has the sickness like his father had before him," Gloria continued.

"Sickness?" Naya asked.

"Yes, child. He stifled it the only way he could," the older woman said, her lazy eye drifting off into space. "These mental perversions are an affliction of the extremely affluent. Cousins marry cousins to protect the money, to keep the estates whole. _Inbreeding_."

"Dandy is..._what_?" Naya asked; Gloria seemed to disregard her concern and continue with her trivial rambling.

"It becomes a right of passage to have a psychotic or two in the line. Jack the Ripper was a Windsor, for God's sake." She paused for a moment, looking at Naya as she picked up the Russian Blue sitting on the stone floor—it purred in her arms as she patted her and kissed her head. "His father hung himself from a maple tree."

"That is terrible," Naya said. "The poor man. I am so sorry—"

"I've accepted my condolences from people a long time ago, child," Gloria said. "He was ill. I have been trying to get a hold of a doctor here in town who specialized in…this _illness_ that afflicts my son."

"Did he go to a doctor before?" Naya asked; her speech seemed to muddle her thinking. She went from subject to subject regarding her son and it confused her so.

"No, no," Gloria said. "He was always a willful child. I often thought of him as a foreigner, or perfectly groomed aristocratic boy who could play the part but didn't quite understand the language. Words had a different meaning for him, particularly the word 'no'. 'No' was an affront. 'No' was a battle cry." She paused for a moment, staring dead into Naya's eyes. "I had complained about the cat digging up my azaleas. So he killed the poor animal."

Naya gasped, taking a step back and holding Sofie, the adorable Russian Blue, close to her as it meowed.

"From that moment on, I never let Dandy out of my sight. Of course, I knew he had to socialize with children." Gloria's turn turned morose within seconds. "The boy never learned to play."

Naya looked at her with frightened astonishment, listening to the rest of her rambling.

"He found a perfect companion with the gardener's son, Emil. He was a beautiful little boy. They would roam the grounds together, happy as clams," Gloria continued, pursing her thin, bright pink lips downward. "I relaxed, thinking my vigil had become unnecessary. One day, the boy vanished. They searched everywhere for him. Emil was never seen again."

"W-What do you think happened to the boy?" Naya asked. Gloria did not respond, and she sniffled slightly as if she were crying.

"I…I think I _should_ call the doctor, child," the older woman said. "I believe it is time, now. He is going to be a husband and father. He needs to be mentally well to perform his duties as one."

Gloria left the room, and Naya watched her before putting the cat back on the floor. _Poor Dandy_, she thought to herself, _I hope I can help him as his wife. I hope he can change. Whatever he has done, whatever is on his mind, I hope to help him_.

**A/N:**

**So anyways, I need some suggestions for future chapters because I'm at a loss and I don't want it to be ****_too _****canon, if you know what I mean. I've actually gone a bit wild and put lines from canon scenes into scenes of my own design.**

**I plan on an original storyline to continue from. I hope everyone likes what I have written so far! Please send in your suggestions; I'd love to see what you guys come up with!**

**Please feel free to leave a ****Review****, ****Favorite****, or ****Follow****! **

**Thank you and happy reading/writing! :3**


	15. Chapter 15

The phone had rung the following afternoon—Naya had just eaten lunch, but it was Gloria who answered it.

_Ring-ring…_

_Ring-ring…_

_Ring-ring…_

"Hello, this is the Mott residence. Who is calling?"

"My name is Eve," the voice said. "Is…Miss Naya available?"

"Naya?" Gloria asked.

"Yes," the voice said.

"Certainly, ma'am. Wait a moment, please," Gloria said, putting the phone on the table as she walked through the halls to the parlor to see Naya sitting on the sofa with Sofie in her lap.

She was dressed quite beautifully in an emerald green, long-sleeved dress with a full skirt supported by a crinoline. The color made her skin look pearlescent and shiny-smooth, but it was the satin fabric causing that illusion. Around her neck was a short string of pearls, and a matching green pillbox hat topped her snow-white hair. Her shoes were of fine emerald satin with beads sewn at the points of her toes, and her violet eyes looked up at her future mother in-law.

"Someone is on the phone for you, child," Gloria said.

Naya put the cat on the floor and walked to where the phone was, picking it up and greeting the other end.

"H-Hello?"

"Naya? This is Eve."

"Eve?" The albiness sounded shocked. "H-How are things?"

"Well, that's why I called you. You need to come to the camp. Jimmy is falling apart," the abnormally tall woman explained.

"_What_?!" Naya exclaimed. "I-I can't leave here!"

"You must! You can go right back. We're not asking you to stay, but you need to come here and help us make Jimmy stop drinking. He's getting worse. Ethel was murdered," Eve explained frantically.

"_Murdered_?" Naya asked in a mutter.

"Yes. We found her in the woods nearby. It looks like she was stabbed to death by someone and left there," Eve explained.

"Oh my…oh my god!" Naya exclaimed, frightened by what she had just heard. "I will…I will be coming there!"

She hung up the phone and made her way out the door, even as Gloria bombarded her with questions.

"What is wrong, child?"

"Is something the matter?"

Naya did not respond—she made the Mott's private chauffeur drive to the grounds of the freak show, where she was escorted out and stepped on the raw earth.

She looked around, the rays of the sun shining down on her pale form as she made her way to the demon clown-faced entrance, its mouth welcoming her in as Pepper and Salty waddled by. Nothing seemed to have changed since she had left, but Eve approached her, her long legs sprinting toward the well-dress albiness in shock. Her rich, brown pin curls were piled on the top of her head and tied with a navy blue and white polka dot scarf. Her blouse was a dusty pink shade and she wore denim capris and flat, comfortable loafers as she smoked a cigarette. She looked at Naya's lavish attire and gasped upon seeing her.

"Naya!"

The tall woman leaned down and hugged the albiness, who shed a tear of longing—she had only then realized how much she missed being with the carnies. They were her true friends through it all, even though Eve and Jimmy were the only two to make an effort to talk to or see her. Paul came over, as did Suzy and Toulouse, to greet the former member of the troupe.

"You're back!" Paul exclaimed excitedly. "We've missed you."

"I heard about what happened," Naya said sadly. "I'm sorry for your loss. I came as soon as I could."

"We are happy you could come," Eve said, taking her small, pale hand into her larger one and leading her to the small village of tents in the back of the great tent. Naya could hear yelling in the distance, and immediately recognized the voice. Her violet eyes widened, seeing the lake behind the source of the yelling.

"Nothing makes sense!" It was Jimmy, and once the carnies got to the scene, Naya saw him shouting at Maggie in a drunken rage.

"I'm the girl who fell in love with a leader!" Maggie yelled back, shoving his shoulder roughly. "A _hero_, for Christ sakes! Where is _he_?"

"Well, surprise!" Jimmy screamed. "He ain't here! I can't just roll up my feelings into a ball and shove 'em back inside! I'm not General Patton! _Christ_! Is _that_ what you want? 'Cause if that's the case, then buzz off!"

"Jimmy, that's not what I said!" Maggie said, following him as he plopped down on a wooden crate.

"_That's not what I said_," Jimmy mocked, slurring his speech as he gulped a swig of liquor down his gullet.

"You need to eat something," Maggie said, trying to calm down.

"Get outta my face!" the drunken young man barked. "You sound like an ol' church marm!"

"Jimmy, you think you did something wrong. You didn't," the young woman explained. "She was _murdered_. There was nothing you could do. We buried her days ago! Please! Stop drinking your problems away!"

"You don't understand _anything_," Jimmy sneered, his dark eyes staring coldly down at Maggie, who knelt before the crate. Things escalated when she reached for his bottle of whiskey, trying to pull it away. There was a struggle, and Naya just watched, tempted to intervene; yet Jimmy's temper at the moment frightened her so.

"GIMME IT!" he shouted, grabbing her wrist firmly with a cold, angry look in his eyes. "Don't even bother with me! Get the hell away from me! I don't like you! Get it through your head!"

He tossed her wrist downward, and she ran away, crying her eyes out.

"Jimmy," Eve said, finally brave enough to approach the drunken young man. "Someone is here to see you."

"Eve, not now…p-please…"

"It's Naya," the abnormally tall woman said gently.

His eyes widened as the albiness drew closer, looking up at her as if she were an angel descended from heaven to save him from his hell on earth. She was dressed in emerald green satin with a matching hat and shoes with a short string of pearls around her neck. She had not changed, as she was still the same pale beauty he knew—stark white hair, pearlescent skin, penetrating violet eyes, white eyelashes, full, soft pink lips, and a slender figure with an average bust and small waist. He was far too drunk to notice the sapphire ring on her finger, but he was sober enough to know she was there. Naya was led closer by Eve, who looked down at her and nodded.

"Naya's here," Eve repeated.

"I see," Jimmy said tearfully. "Oh god…"

At that moment, he leaned forward and began to sob heavily, leaning into the albiness' full skirt and sobbing into it. She smelled delightful, very much like a luxurious bubble bath mingled with the soft aroma of an expensive perfume. Her presence was enough to console him, and Naya crouched down to take him into her arms, patting his back as he cried heavily into her shoulder. Jimmy shook his head, sighing sadly.

"Please don't leave me," he wept.

"I will not leave, but I cannot stay. I will stay with you until you are calm," Naya said. "I promise."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the young man cried, burying his face near the crook of her neck.

"Don't be," the albiness whispered. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Naya, Naya…" Jimmy seemed to slur her name in a chant.

"Jimmy?" Paul asked, stepping forward. "I think you'd best be going to bed. We'll take you to your trailer."

"Come," Naya said, trying to bring him to his feet with the help of Eve.

Luckily, his trailer was not far away from the open-paneled tent. Paul opened the door and in went Jimmy with his arms supported by the albiness and Eve. He smelled of whiskey and five miles of bad road, and they sat him down on his futon bed and sat themselves down in the two chairs that were in there, pulling them closer to him as he leaned back. He looked at Naya steadily as he cried.

"You left…" He trailed off and she shook her head.

"I had to," she revealed. "But, I will stay until you are calm."

"Nothing makes sense anymore," he whined.

"I lost my mother, too…Jimmy," Naya said; her accent made his name sound rather strange.

"You did? Eve asked, gasping as she put her hands to her chest; her fingertip fiddled with her prominent collarbone.

"Yes," the albiness said, a tear forming in her eye.

"How? I mean, if you want to share," Eve questioned curiously. Naya looked down and shook her head, biting her lower lip.

She did not answer her, a message which the abnormally tall woman understood completely.

However, this would be her final visit before her wedding to Dandy. She did not promise anything about a second visit, as Dandy was unhappy that she had left without his permission.

* * *

Proper preparations were made prior to the March 1953 ceremony—invitations were sent out to all of the guests including the carnies at Fraulein Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities, the food was prepared by their maids and cook, a latticed arch intertwined with white roses and green ivy was set up in the backyard in front of a large patch of tulips that had begun to sprout, seats for the well-dressed, upper class guests were arranged so that an aisle was formed, a live violin-and-cello quartet provided music, and the bride and groom were each dressed to look their best.

The worries of Regina returning halted when she took a three-month mandatory business trip to New York City, for which she left in January. Gloria still had not called the doctor, not only because she was busy with wedding preparations but that Dandy was stubborn when he found out. Jimmy, who had learned of Naya's engagement two weeks before her last visit to the troupe on the day he was taking a drunken fit, did not attend the wedding. He was devastated beyond belief at the news and remained there, drinking. Elsa, despite the tensions between her and Naya, still attended the ceremony even though she got strange looks for her flamboyant outfit choice and the explicit statement in the letter that read: CARNIES ONLY. Eve, Desiree, Suzy, Paul, Dell, and Toulouse all managed to make it in their finest clothing—the only reason Maggie went, despite a heavy heart, was to meet someone new.

Dandy was waiting next to the officiant, a justice of the peace, for his bride to come down the aisle and for the seats to be full. Gloria sat in the very front, wearing yellow, smiling at her son with a handkerchief in her hand. When the bridal march began, Naya slowly walked down the aisle. Everyone gasped at how beautiful (and white) she looked in her gown. With a lightly frilled, floor-length, full skirt made of the finest Belgian and Leavers lace, the dress was breathtakingly beautiful. The bodice was a sweetheart neckline made of white silk covered with a layer of lace and a frill at the neck. For something borrowed and blue, Gloria let her wear one of her sapphire pendants which perfectly matched the ring Dandy proposed to her with. To complete the look, she wore white, mule-style kitten heels and wore a thin veil over her face; being blind in one eye, this made it easier to see.

The ceremony had made her nervous, but during it, she learned that his birth name was actually Daniel, and assumed Dandy was a nickname given to him by his mother. When asked if she would take him to be her lawfully wedded husband, she was silent before saying a blank-sounding "I do." Rings were exchanged along with vows, and by the power invested in the state of Florida and in the justice, he pronounced them husband and wife and gave Dandy the permission to kiss the bride. Lifting the veil, he saw his new wife's pale, beautiful face and he planted a simple kiss on her lips as he held her.

It was during the reception at the receiving line that Naya noticed Jimmy's absence. She had a fleeting thought of him once that morning, but tried to focus on Dandy even though she worried about the man with deformed hands who had become her friend. He had been in such rough shape when he calmed down that day before her leave, and it worried her to the point of a frown, which Gloria noticed and cupped her chin before reaching to collect a wedding gift from a guest.

"Smile, child," she instructed. "It is your wedding day!"

"Oh…uh…" Naya smiled, her imperfect, white teeth showing briefly. "It is, isn't it?"

The next person in the receiving line was Elsa, who was dressed garishly in a vintage evening gown that was black, floor-length, dropped waistline with layered fringing on the top. She wore a mink fur stole, and her golden locks were in a tightly-permed bob. Her hazel eyes seemed to look through Naya as she contributed her wedding gift—one hundred dollars in a card plus the final bit of pay she never received from her brief stint with the freak show.

"Congratulations, _leibchen_," the German said with a smile. "I never thought it would come to this point."

"Me too," Naya said.

"Enjoy the party," Dandy said with a smile, his plain, gold band shining on his ring finger.

"Thank you," Gloria said, taking the envelope and putting it in the box with the rest of the cash gifts given to the bride and groom.

For the first dance, Dandy escorted Naya to a designated space near the live quartet, who played an instrumental of Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon, to which they waltzed to. The moment Naya heard people clinking their glasses with silverware, she was confused, but then Dandy quickly clarified its significance in a whisper.

"That means I can kiss you," he said, pressing his lips to hers as he dipped her, a hand on the small of her back while her other hand was in his. When he broke the kiss, he guided her back up again and stared into her intense, but glad violet eyes.

The wedding cake was consumed after a five course meal, and was the main dessert for the event. With three tiers, it was vanilla bean flavored with a layer of crème in the middle with strawberry slices mingled in. The outer portion was made of both frosting and fondant with light pink floral accents. Naya's hand was guided by Dandy's during the cutting, and she fed him a bite of her slice; it was the first.

She had fleeting memories, thoughts and worries of Jimmy for the rest of the day.

* * *

Gloria had only talked briefly about the infamous, albeit traditional wedding night 'festivities' of the bride and groom with Naya a week before the ceremony during the final fitting of her wedding gown. She was sitting on the bed of the guest bedroom that had become hers, looking down at her pale, bluish fingertips anxiously, fiddling with them even as she heard footsteps approaching her closed door. She had been helped out of her wedding gown by Dandy's personal maid and it was hung up, along with the veil, in the built-in wardrobe full of her lavish clothing. Her achromatic, moon-white hair was also taken out of the simple up-do and was now loose to reach her shoulders. Now, she was wearing a light peach-colored nightgown that had front closure with a ribbon in the front with sleeves just long enough to hide the former identification tattoo that had been forced into her skin as a prisoner of Auschwitz. However, it was sheer enough for the abundance of brutal, deep, gash-like scars in her back to be seen.

"Naya?"

The voice was a whisper; Naya felt frightened from its nature.

"Can I come in?"

"Who is it?"

"Your new groom. Who else?"

Dandy came in wearing his purple satin bathrobe with a black trim along the edges and a black satin tie-around that kept it closed. Naya looked at him up and down nervously, remembering what Gloria had told her the week before at her final gown fitting: _"__You will be content when it's over, child. There is no reason to fret."_

"You look astounding, _Mrs._ Mott," Dandy smiled, coming closer to his new wife who sat on the bed; she looked tense and worried.

"Thank you, but…uh..." Naya was at a loss for words, but it was made worse by what happened next.

Dandy had undone his bathrobe and let it fall to the floor below him, a small pool of fabric at his feet as its absence revealed his nude male form.

"Uh…uh…"

"Hm, what is it, Naya? Tell me. We're husband and wife now," Dandy said with a proud smile. "There should be no secrets."

Naya eyed his form—his chest was slightly sculpted, as if he worked out in his days leading up to their wedding night. His arms were toned, but not muscular, and at his hips were hints of a v-line that lead down to his flaccid phallus. That part of him made her the most anxious because it was not particularly special, but not particularly large either. Either way, no matter how big he was, he was still making her nervous with every moment he spent standing there, hoping she would admire his body.

"Dandy…" Her Slavic accent made his name sound funny for the millionth time. "C-Can we talk this over?"

"Hm, no." Dandy was direct and honest, but it intimidated her. "You are my wife, and you have something to give up to me."

"Please!" Naya pleaded. "I am afraid."

"Hm, you're a virgin, I hope," Dandy blurted.

Naya nodded—she had never had sexual relations with a man like him, let alone with any man at all. She was a virgin in every way of the word. A blush came to her pallid cheeks, and she looked away.

"That makes two of us, then. Isn't that wonderful?" Dandy asked, approaching the side of the bed to sit down next to his brand new wife, and the albiness looked at him sideways with her frightening violet eyes. He tilted her chin up so their eyes met, and his looked so cool and azure, convincing and even mildly seductive. He kissed the corner of her full lips and whispered in her ear.

"I am perfection. I am greatness. I am your future."

**A/N:**

**So Naya has officially become the new "Mrs. Mott". Dandy also seems a bit ****_too _****cocky on their wedding night (no pun intended). I would have written explicit content but I wanted to save that for when I would ****_really _****need it.**

**I wonder if there'll be any hope for Jimmy…I've gotten your suggestions thus far and I am really trying to light the edge of the rocket with this scenario, so bear with me as I weave the plot for the rest of this story.**

**Please leave a ****Review****, ****Favorite****and ****Follow****!**

**Thanks and happy reading! :3**


	16. Chapter 16

The wedding night had only made Naya more anxious, but luckily, they consummated their marriage in the dark. While Dandy was excessively proud of his appearance in the nude, Naya was deeply mortified. It did not last for a very long period of time—there had barely been any foreplay, and when he finally entered her, she couldn't help but cry out in pain. It was far from enjoyable, and she found herself whimpering with tears in her eyes more than moaning in pleasure. She had even bled on the sheets. As their intimate moments drew to a close, her new husband had issues finishing and pulled out before he could potentially do so. He did not even think to hold her in his arms to keep her warm in the cool bed they became one in. Naya wrapped herself up tightly on her side of the bed while Dandy sprawled out and smiled maniacally, his arms sprawled out to show off his toned arms before he fell asleep.

The following morning, Dandy woke up with Naya still wrapped underneath the comforter and sheets and ordered his maid to bring him a new set of clothing and to draw him a bath. He put on his bathrobe without tying the front before making his way to the bathroom, where he freshened up and got dressed in a white dress shirt with a black vest and matching slacks. He slicked back his wet, dark hair with a comb while his blue eyes penetrated the mirror that cast off his clear reflection.

When he made his way down the stairs and down the hall through the parlor, he heard a voice in the room down the hall. Dandy walked slowly as to not impair his hearing with the sound of his shoes against the floor.

"Oh, goodness, no. Dandy may seem durable, but he's actually quite fragile." It was his mother's voice. Just hearing her sent chills of fury through his body.

"Thank you, doctor."

Dandy opened the door, but made it creak by mistake, startling his mother as she stammered into the phone.

"Your services are no longer needed." That is when she hung up the phone, seeing the horrified look on Dandy's face that was mingled with anger and resentment. "Dear, you startled me."

"You think I'm sick, mother?" he sneered, walking toward her. "Defective? _Unbalanced?! Fragile_?!"

"No, no, I was only trying to placate the doctor, Dandy," Gloria said nervously. "You are spirited."

"I told you I didn't need a doctor, mother. You're a horrible liar! I can see through every one of your fabricated schemes with the words you say," Dandy hissed.

"I did not want him to get proactive about potential treatment for you," Gloria said.

"Well, if I am unbalanced, it's _your_ fault!" her son shouted, almost a hoarse scream. "Dora told me everything when I was five. Your father was wiped out by the big crash of 1929, and you would have done _anything_ to get back to a home like this! Even marrying your _second cousin_! You _disgust_ me!"

"I loved your father!" Gloria cried.

"I was born of deadly sin, mother!" Dandy said with gritted teeth. I wish you could be inside my body for one minute to know what it feels like to be me! It's like when I had tuberculosis, and you took me out to the Utah desert, and there was nothing but dry open space for hundreds of miles around us!" He felt angry tears form from the blue pools of his eyes. "You _knew_ what father had done to those little girls. You _knew_ the risks of breeding with your cousin. You're no better than the Roosevelt family!"

Gloria was now angry with her son, biting her thin lower lip as her lazy eye seemed to straighten itself.

"Don't you _dare_ say that name in this house, young man!" she said emphatically.

"What are _you_ going to do about it, mother? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, just like you have all these years!" Dandy screamed.

"Can't you see you have a sickness, dear?!" Gloria cried tearfully, tears rolling down her cheeks as her heart went from angry red to sad blue. "Your father wasn't the love of my life. _You_ were. From the second you came out and looked at me with that furrowed brow, I loved all of _you_, Dandy. Even the madness."

Dandy shook his head, biting his lower lip to keep from crying.

"You really are a _horrible_ liar," he sneered, taking something from his back pocket and keeping it behind his back. "How could I possibly believe someone who hates me so much?!"

"I love you, Dandy," Gloria wept. "You're my son. I have given you everything your heart desired. I even am coming on your honeymoon to Paris. I'm sure Naya will love me in her company. She's such a good young lady."

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with you!" her son spat. "We aren't having _ANY_ honeymoon, mother!"

"Please, Dandy, listen to—"

"I have no more love to give," her son said, taking the handgun he had taken from his back pocket and preparing to put it to his head. He could've sworn her heard a distant gasp of shock. "You have tapped me out. You're right, mother. I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain. It's time for this madness to end!"

Gloria looked at her son in horror, fearing his final moments as she tried to persuade him gently.

"NO! Dandy! Please! Not this way! I can't go on if you kill yourself!" she wept. "Think of your new bride! She can't bear to see you die!"

"Well, alright."

He took the gun from his head, looking at his mother.

_BAM!_

_Thud._

He shot his mother dead.

There was a scream.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Dandy smiled down at his newly dead mother before looking up at the doorway to see a horrified Naya, dressed in her nightgown from the night before, with tears welling in her intense violet eyes with her hands trembling near her mouth; her fingertips and hollows of her cheeks seemed to turn a bluer color. A part of Gloria's head was gone, allowing brain matter to spill out just where the bullet was lodged. Blood had spattered near her feet, and the albiness did not hesitate to run down the hall. Dandy chased her, grunting angrily as she ran to the phone receiver in the parlor, where she took the phone and attempted to press the number 9. Dandy had forcefully pulled her away, and Naya struggled out of his grasp, her strength doing nothing to save her.

"NO! NO! Let me go!" she screamed.

Dandy grabbed her head on both sides, gripping her stark-white hair at the roots as she cried out in pain, beating her fists against his chest to make him release her.

"STOP IT, NAYA! If you _ever_ attempt to call 911 on me again, you're _next_!" he hissed in her face, droplets of saliva dropping on her lily-colored skin as she began to sob from the intense, burning pain in her scalp from him holding onto her hair the way he did.

"Please! Let me go! _LET ME GO_!" she pleaded, wailing out in excruciating pain. _Gloria was right_, she thought, _he really is ill_.

He tossed her on the clean white carpet, and she put her hands on her aching head, crying in agony. She looked up in horror as her mind's eye visualized the man that she had just married wearing a black, decorated military uniform with a thick, distinguishable armband with an ink-black swastika inlaid in a white circle. A belt kept the top of the uniform cinched and flattering around a built, fit form and the soldier's pants were neatly tucked into his tall black boots. His voice, however, was harsh—she could hear it all coming back to her.

_"__She missed seven! Start over!"_

_"__Put her in there until we can figure out what to do with her."_

_"__Ruski scum!"_

Naya screamed and began to kick her feet, remembering how cramped, cold and filthy her dark cell was. It had been so small that her legs couldn't be straightened out, and she could not stretch to relieve bodily discomfort.

"NO! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

Dandy stared down at her strangely, crouching down to her level and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Make what stop? You made me very angry, Naya," Dandy said with confusion, smiling down at her as her post-traumatic episode continued.

Then it suddenly stopped—she found herself laying in the middle of the parlor on the white carpet with Dandy peering down at her; his smile turned to a look of horror and concern as she helped her back to her feet. A maid had come by, and he snapped his fingers.

"Water," he said. "Right now."

* * *

And it was brought to her—no questions were asked. Naya quivered as she was seated on the sofa, taking occasional sips of the water as Dandy sat next to her, whispering. Just his presence next to her intimidated and scared her more than the Nazi soldiers had at Auschwitz.

"Better now?" he asked.

No answer from the catatonic albiness. He looked down and saw hints of the numbers tattooed in her forearm.

"I'm sorry I got so angry with you, Naya," he said. "I promise I won't do it again."

"W-Why did you kill her?" she stammered tearfully, staring up at him with horror; a pinkish color seemed to infuse itself with the violet in her eyes. His answer seemed simple and remorseless.

"Because she hated me so much. I had to do it. There was no other choice," Dandy whispered, hearing the maid walk by as he secretly prayed for her not to walk by and see Gloria's dead body in the room down the hall.

"She did not hate you!" she exclaimed. "You shouldn't have shot her!"

"Naya, I don't think you understand me as well as you think you do," Dandy said. "My mother hated me so much. I heard her on the phone when I woke up, talking to the doctor and saying I was…_defective_." He grunted, speaking between gritted teeth, "I _hate_ that word!" He sighed to bring himself together. "It's like when I had tuberculosis, and she took me out to the Utah desert, and there was nothing but dry open space for hundreds of miles around us. That is what is inside of me."

Naya took another emotionally agonizing sip from her glass of water, listening to him as her blind eye twitched, staring off into space.

"And you, Naya," he said, directing her attention to eye contact, "you were a cool stream of glacier water. My heart bloomed as you nourished it…" He began to pant. "And now it's all gone. There is nothing left but the dust and the scorpions inside of me. I was never destined to feel love."

Naya was confused, looking at him cautiously as her eye twitched; a tear streamed down her face, heartbroken by his words.

"Why did you ask me to marry you if you don't love me?" she asked.

"It isn't that I don't love you, Naya. I do," he said, biting his lower lip for a brief second. "I must accept this emptiness as a blessing, not a curse. I know why I was put here, Naya. I've known for a while. My purpose is to bring death. Do you understand?"

Naya put her glass down carefully and stared at him with horror, moving a seat away from her husband before standing up and looking down at him. She took her pale white hands to her face and began to sob uncontrollably. How could she have let herself be carried away by life's luxuries under the delusion that Dandy was a good man who gave her anything she wanted? How could she put herself in danger not knowing what was hiding beneath his overall pleasant visage? She felt a presence approach her, and looked to see it was Dandy, holding her in his arms.

"Naya, I know you probably are thinking of leaving," he assumed, "but this is your _home_ now. We are married, and we will stay together forever and ever." He seemed to read her mind

"Dandy…" He accent made his name sound strange once again. "Gloria did not deserve to die. No one deserves to die. You cannot kill anyone ever again."

"I wish it were that simple," he said, looking down as he fluffed where he had gripped her hair in handfuls. "She had to die." He paused and smiled down at his feet, looking at the front of Naya's nightgown. "Did you know I was destined to be the greatest actor of all time?"

"You wanted to be an _actor_?" she asked tearfully, still looking up at him with terror in her violet eyes. "Is that why you killed her?"

"Partially, yes, Naya," he explained, his hands at the sides of her upper arms. "If I had been in _A Place in the Sun_, George Stevens would have had me do the walk to the electric chair shirtless. I mailed away for one of those Charles Atlas exercise routines they advertise in the back of the Superman comics, and got in prime physical shape. I practiced acting faces in front of the mirror. Sad, happy, moody, but mother wouldn't let me. I _hated_ her!" His exclamation seemed to calm itself down, bringing his tone along with it. "But she couldn't keep my greatness in the slips. One door closes, another opens."

"I wanted to dance on the great stage," Naya said frantically, "and I never killed anyone to pursue my dream!"

"See, _you_ wanted to be a dancer. _I_ wanted to be an actor. A thespian!" he said excitedly, "and this body you saw last night…it is America. Strong, violent, full of limitless potential. My arms will hold them down when they struggle. My legs will run them down when they flee. I am the steel of murder, Naya. My body holds a heart that cannot love."

Naya listened to his rambling more, biting her lower lip contemptuously as he continued.

"When Dora died—"

"She _died_? I heard she got squash," the albiness asked.

"No, I killed _her_ as well," Dandy smiled. "I felt nothing."

Naya gasped, looking at her new husband with grief and sorrow—_what have I gotten myself into_, she thought, _he is a monster!_

"I am perfection and greatness, Naya," he continued, boasting and disgustingly proud. "I am the perfect husband for you. I know you will accept it."

* * *

His egotism, sense of righteous self-worth, murderous tendencies, apparent mental illness, and other factors were enough to send Naya over the edge. It had driven her mad to keep it all a secret within the boundaries of Mott Manor. She could not leave, she could not express her desire for a divorce, and there were nights he would go out only to be wearing his underwear and covered in blood the following morning. She had even heard shots fired the day Dandy took matters into his own hands and persuaded a cop to kill Regina, Dora's daughter, in exchange for one million in cash. She had been in the parlor at the time, and even saw them pass to the billiard room, a place Dandy's father spent his days in. The policeman, who had been called by Regina shortly after her return from New York City, had even been ordered to bury the body in the backyard.

After three months of her husband's horrifying behavior, Naya had enough—putting on her heaviest coat, a gray trench with two pockets in the sides, she left the manor with the moonlight to guide her as she walked off into the night like a ghost from her grave.

**A/N:**

**Oops! Cliffhanger, guys! Sorry if you hate them, but if you've seen any of my other writing, I include them a lot to make the plot more exciting! Suspense is my forte.**

**Please feel free to leave a Review, Favorite, Follow, and if you're feeling lucky, Share with your friends!**

**Stay tuned, thank you, and happy reading! :3**


	17. Chapter 17

**WARNING:** _May contain explicit content; discretion is advised!_

* * *

_Three months later…_

Being blind in one eye did nothing to help her find rocks with a sufficient amount of weight to store in the pockets of her trench coat. The dark also made it much more difficult, the moon only showing glimpses of heather gray rocks of medium size and large density. She leaned down and picked them up, placing them in her pockets as she took a breath of the warm June air that had only made her hotter in the long trench coat she was wearing. She glanced up at the moon one last time before making her way down the short, vague trail, the lunar glow as her only guide as it led to a deep, dark, murky lake. There was a creaky dock made of old, aged wood that Naya stepped on, staring down at her Italian leather loafers as they made their way toward the edge. The water frightened her just as much as her husband had in the three months they were married—_not anymore_, she thought, _not anymore_.

_No more hiding._

_No more death._

_No more having to pretend._

_No more of me._

As she prepared to lift her foot off the edge to drop into the water, she heard a motor gradually come to a stop along with the sound of heavy footsteps moving toward some undefined area behind her. Her tears and soft weeping continued as she held out her arms prepared to jump into the lake.

"Naya!"

The voice stopped her—it sounded all-too-familiar.

"Stand back!" the young albiness ordered. "Do not come any closer to me!"

She could not make out who it was until the moon illuminated the figure's face—_Jimmy_, she thought, biting her lower lip and keeping from crying.

"Why are you out this late at night?" he asked. "What are you doing?"

"Just leave me," Naya ordered.

"No, Naya. Get off the edge, you're gonna fall," Jimmy said, looking at the albiness with worry.

"Let me!"

"Naya, please come back over here," he said. "I don't want to see you fall."

"You are distracting me!" she screeched, sounding hoarse and weary. "Leave!"

"No!" Jimmy replied emphatically. "I'm staying until you come back over here."

"Go back to your…being drunk," Naya muttered tearfully, preparing herself to fall into the murky, deep lake without a care in the world left.

"The others made me stop. I'm fine now," the man with deformed hands.

Naya glanced back at him, looking at him up and down as the moonlight illuminated him dimly in its white light. He wore his worn-down brown newsboy cap, a light brown, short-sleeved button up shirt that was only buttoned halfway to show off his white tank top, and it was tucked into his worn jeans. His hands, ungloved and exposed, were at his sides as he patiently waited for the albiness to step away from the water.

"Naya, please…come on over here. I'll take you back home. It's not safe out here," Jimmy offered.

"I don't want to go home!" the albiness shouted in her soft-sounding Slavic accent. "I don't want to live anymore! I don't…"

She could not hold in the tears any longer; they flowed as she struggled to catch her breath, sobbing herself into oblivion before Jimmy stepped up and joined her on the dock, looking at her unnaturally white features before putting an arm around her shoulder. She was crying so hard she couldn't even think of suicide anymore; she couldn't even feel the guilt and fear that had been instilled into her since the day after marrying Dandy; she couldn't even begin to revisit the horrifying imagery of seeing him covered in blood after an all-night "outing"; she couldn't bear to think of the reasons why she never returned to the freak show; it was entirely a blur. One, big, sloppy blur.

"Naya, let's go," Jimmy said sadly, trying to calm the albiness down. "Tell me all about it when we reach my trailer."

* * *

Jimmy was uncomfortable with Naya's catatonia—when he got her on his motorcycle, brought her back to the grounds and into his trailer, he had her sit down before offering her a glass of water. She was unresponsive, her violet eyes staring into space in front of her as though she were in front of a thousand yards of empty land. She seemed dissociative, and Jimmy walked in front of her and crouched down, meeting his eyes with hers as he tried to give her the glass of water.

"Naya, are you ok?" he asked.

She snapped out of it, signified by her speech and blind eye twitch.

"Huh?"

"Drink this," he instructed. "You'll feel better."

"Y-You…uh…" Naya stammered, taking the glass and a sip along with it.

"Naya, why did you try to kill yourself?" he asked, pulling a chair up to her. "I thought you were happy. Happily married, big house, rich…_right_?"

"I do not want to go back, but I must," Naya replied.

"Yeah?"

"If I don't, he'll hurt me."

"Who?"

"My husband," she said, her eyes welling with tears. "Dandy."

He began to feel his blood boiling inside, but tried to keep calm for her sake as he listened to her.

"Oh my god…" he said with disbelief, shaking his head.

"He has…h-hurt people…" she sobbed, sniffling and trying to clear her mind. "He warned me…n-not to tell anybody, or h-he would kill me."

"_What?!_" Jimmy couldn't control his anger and outrage, looking at the depressed albiness as she tried to explain herself and what had happened in the three months of marriage she shared with Dandy.

"He killed Gloria, his m-m-mother," she stammered as she struggled for a breath. "He killed the maid…he killed a girl…h-he comes h-h-home covered in blood after…b-being out all night…wearing his…u-u-underwears…and…he said to me he does not love."

Jimmy's dark brown eyes went from deep concern to the depths of fury about what he had heard escape Naya's lips at that moment. Why hadn't she escaped sooner? What had Dandy done to his wife in order to keep her from breaking her silence about his deadly habits? Had his behavior driven her over the edge? Questions ran through his mind as he stared at her with deep worry.

"W-We need to get the cops," Jimmy suggested, not believing his own words. "You're in danger, Naya."

"No, w-we can't," she said.

"Yes, we can, and we will—"

"My husband paid a policeman one million dollars just to kill that girl for him. I was not present, but I heard shots fired. He…is unstoppable now," Naya cried. "Do you not see?"

"_What?_!" Jimmy exclaimed. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm telling the truth," Naya replied frantically. "I saw him kill his mother! I tried to call for help! He hurt me and said he would kill me if we got the police!"

That was the moment she collapsed, falling forward with her face buried in the palm of her pale hands, sobbing uncontrollably just thinking of her husband and his murderous tendencies and cruel behavior. Jimmy tried to catch her, and he made her lean onto his broad, clothed chest as he patted her back. He felt irrevocably furious with Dandy for instilling such fright and shame into Naya for his own wrongdoings. As she wept, he shook his head, inhaling the whiff he got of her sweet-smelling, stark white hair.

"Naya…you can't stay there anymore," Jimmy whispered.

"He will kill me if I d-d-don't s-stay!" the albiness sobbed heavily.

"But he will hurt you if you go back. Don't you see?" Jimmy said emphatically. "You will _not_ be going back there, Naya! I won't let you get hurt or worse!"

"Jimmy…" Her voice cracked. "The only….thing l-left for me now…i-is to leave, or to die…" Naya sniffled roughly, looking down with misery. "I…I need to leave t-this town…"

Jimmy's eyes widened at her chilling response, his lips going dry before he could speak clearly and give his answer; _she can't leave_, he thought fearfully,_wait, she should. She must be safe. What the hell am I thinking?_

"Naya…" He sighed, feeling a tear forming in his eye which he held back successfully. "Don't even think about killing yourself. I…I don't think I could live with myself if you did…y-you have so much to live for…y-you can't just toss it away."

"I have nothing," Naya replied sadly. "You have no idea."

"No, I _do_ have an idea," he said to the albiness. "If he really loved you, he wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't threaten you. He wouldn't make you a prisoner in his own house. But most of all…" Their eyes met for the last part of his sentence, and he reached for her hand, her bluish fingertips against his fused digits; "he wouldn't love you as much as I do."

Naya's eyes widened, but there was no expression on her face; she was unexpressive, unresponsive—_what_, she asked herself, _he cannot be serious. This isn't the time_. Jimmy sighed and looked down at the floor of his trailer, taking a short glance at the bluish-white hands he held in his deformity. He expected her to respond somehow, but her violet eyes were empty and spiritless, as though her soul flew freely out of her body without a care. Suddenly, he took both hands into his and motioned her subtly to stand up with him, his dark brown eyes admiring her moon-white beauty that seemed to glow in the dim lap of his abode—blanched, soft hair; immaculate, smooth skin the color of alabaster; full eyelashes the color of a winter frost; lavender-violet eyes that radiated a plethora of hidden, repressed emotions; a lithe, willowy frame that was pleasing to the eye; a heart that held an ocean of mysteries. Jimmy had been captivated since day one—it came into full realization.

"Naya," he said as she looked up at him. "I've loved you since the first moment I looked at you. You were…oh god, how do I say it? You were…" He looked at her, seeing her eye twitch, "_captivating_. You looked right at me. You didn't flinch, not even a bit. Most people get scared of me because of my hands…but I knew that in that moment, I felt I could face anything with you by my side. You are the only woman for me, 'cause you're like me." He paused, making sure his words were correctly said during this tender moment. "Different but special. Let me take your pain away. Replace it with love."

Naya was speechless, but listened to him and what he had to say.

"I know you are married, but…I could make you so happy Naya," he continued, his voice soft and ardent. "I'll make you forget about him. You'll never be alone again…as long as _I _am here."

Naya was, again, speechless.

"I have…nothing to say," she crooned in her soft Slavic accent. Jimmy gently cupped her jaw in his hand, looking into her eyes deeply as he felt his pants start to tighten.

"You don't have to say anything," he muttered gently, "because I know you want to know the real love of a man."

The warmth of his breath drew nearer as his lips claimed hers, making her moan softly as she felt his hands slowly remove her trench coat, slipping it off her form as it dropped to the floor. A thud accompanied it from the sound of the stones crowding her pockets, but he paid it no mind and neither did she. Naya felt herself slowly returning his kiss, gradually getting engulfed in his passion. Jimmy fed from the sweetness of her mouth, gently sliding his tongue between her full, sugar-pink lips as he felt his erection grow even more in his pants. He felt her hands travel up his chest so she could wrap her arms around his broad shoulders as she trembled—suddenly, he broke the kiss and looked down into her eyes.

"Oh, Naya…"

There was need and longing in his eyes, but then he looked down to see that the only thing she was wearing was her peach-colored, frilly nightgown. He bit his lower lip at the hints of her light pink, perky nipples that had only becomes taut during their kiss. Naya, seeing that his light brown, short-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned generously to show off his wifebeater tank top, reached and undid the buttons, making Jimmy smirk as he planted a kiss on the bridge of her nose. She untucked the shirt, and he pulled it off his body before slowly proceeding to untie the frilly bow at the top of her front-closured peach nightgown. A bluish-purple blush came to her cheeks as he parted it slowly.

"Hm—"

"Naya?"

He recaptured her lips, famished and aroused, and snaked his arms tightly around her waist. The way she felt against him was heaven, and she loved how protective his embrace was as he led her back to his futon bed, having her lay down as he got on top of her, gazing down as the right flap of her nightgown exposed the weight of one of her average-sized breasts. He reached down to open her nightgown all the way, gasping at the sight of her pale, smooth white skin. Her nipples were a light, rosy pink and they were pert, and her abdomen had an indent, making him wonder when it was when she had last eaten; her waist was gathered and shapely, perfect inward curves on both sides. He licked his lips with anticipation, making her moan gently as he carefully fondled her breasts and leaned down to attack her neck sweetly with kisses that only made her melt.

"Ah….ah…."

He could hear her panting, but he moved down lower, making her tremble as he kissed her collarbone. Jimmy suddenly kneeled up, feeling the heat between them rise as he rid himself of his white tank top, tossing it aside as he slowly went down to Naya and recaptured her mouth with hungry urgency. She was intoxicating—her scent, the taste of her sugar-pink lips, how her pale, bluish fingertips glided down his lean, bulky torso. Her husband was a string-bean compared to Jimmy, as the man with deformed hands had a torso that was tight, hard, and bulking with muscle toward the chest and shoulders. Naya kissed him back, feeling him gently tug on her lower lip before moving lower to run his tongue over her nipple.

"Ah…"

"Hm," Jimmy moaned, his hands caressing her waist and hips as his allowed his tongue to gently circle her pale, rosy bud as he sucked on it gently.

Naya could feel a strange burning sensation developing in her core as her panting grew louder and more audible, making Jimmy's throbbing manhood create a visible tent in front of his pants. He reached down to unbuckle his belt and unzip himself, pulling off his boxers with them to reveal his erect shaft; he could feel every beat of his heart pulsating into every bit of his nine inches. Naya glanced down and gasped at the sight, seeing that it bent slightly upwards.

"Oh my…god…" Naya panted, looking at its thickness and length, shaking her head as he smirked devilishly, a boyish look in his eyes.

"I want this to last, darling," Jimmy moaned, reaching down to feel her creamy, white breasts once more before tracing his fingers down toward her hips, taking the edge of her pink panties beneath his fused index-middle fingers.

He lifted her hips gently, sliding her panties down her legs and tossing them to the floor. Without hesitation, he caressed her thighs for a few moans in response before taking one of his oversized, fused digits to her delicate softness—Naya gasped loudly and let out a shuddered, broken moan as pleasure began to build; meanwhile, Jimmy smiled down at her intently, keeping his eyes on the way she reacted. Just feeling her juices flowing on him enticed him even more.

"Ah!...ah!...d-da….da…"

Jimmy bit his lower lip, smiling down at the albiness as he massaged the sensitive nub just above her entrance, making her writhe and toss her head back.

"AH!" she yelped, a desperate moan escaping her throat as he expertly pleasured her with his fingers. Dandy had never given her this pleasure, not even during their wedding night, the only night they had ever been intimate with each other.

When he eased his fused fingers into her, she gasped and gripped the thin, but comfortable mattress of the futon bed; she felt like she was going mad with ecstasy.

"AH! Ah…da…..da…."

Her cries of bliss only made him slide in and out faster than the even pace he had been going at, but without warning, he leaned down and put his tongue to work, putting Naya's cream-white thighs on his shoulders as his tongue probed her sensitive, pale pink nub. The albiness began to whimper with ecstasy as she felt his fused fingers inside her and his tongue pleasuring the outside, and Jimmy enjoyed every minute as much as he did her taste and natural scent—it was orgasmic for him, but even more so the thought of him sinking himself into her tightness and drowning.

"Da...da…" Naya yelped between shudders and moans as she writhed wildly.

"Mm…baby," Jimmy muttered, turning his fingers upward to repeatedly tap against a swollen, protruding space of unparalleled sensitivity, making Naya gasp and nearly pull away due to the overpowering sensation.

"Oh…ah! Ah! Ah!...AH!"

Her pants grew viciously passionate as she fought for her breath, bucking her hips until his tapping began to sound more like a wet fapping—Jimmy had made her explode all over him, and his eyes widened at the sight of Naya's shivering, jittery body from the orgasm he had given her. With abandon, he quickly leaned down and pressed his hard chest against her body, kissing her fervently as he positioned himself at her entrance.

"I love you, Naya," he whispered—the albiness was beyond sure of her feelings for him.

"I…I love you," she stuttered.

"I need you," he added, rubbing the tip of his throbbing virility against her sensitive, wet, delicate pale pink petals between her legs.

Giving a nod of approval, Naya found herself sucking air through her teeth as his first, gentle entry made her gasp. Jimmy groaned, feeling how tightly snug her walls fit around his sizeable girth, his face buried in the sweet aroma at the crook of her neck; his teeth gently gnawed at her skin, attacking her sweet spot with kisses.

"Ah!"

"Oh, Naya…" Jimmy moaned with abandon. He kept himself put as her tight walls got used to his size, beginning to move in and out within a matter of mere moments—he could not resist the temptation any longer, and he could feel himself getting even harder by the second as Naya moaned underneath him, holding him close to her as tightly as she could as his kiss seized her lips roughly.

"Oh…ah…d-da….da…."

He tilted his forehead against hers, sweaty with his signature gelled curls stuck to his skin, as he suddenly began holding her hips at a better angle for deep penetration as he plowed with a frenzy, hitting her most sensitive internal spot repeatedly. Naya felt herself arching as she writhed in torment, tossing her head back as the wet fapping sound returned.

"AHHH!" Naya screamed as she felt herself release all over him again. She could barely breathe; the pleasure was so intense, and the heat was exhilarating. Jimmy leaned down to kiss her, taking himself out of her as he whispered to her.

"There's more where that came from, doll," he said with a boyish smirk, giving her a wet, passionate kiss as she gasped in his mouth at the sensation of his powerful fullness entering and filling her as it delved deeper than he had the entire night.

"Ah! It's….so deep," she moaned, feeling his lips travel down and suckling her collarbone—it made her tremble all the more.

"Oh, but it feels good, don't it, love?" Jimmy said, pounding her hard with powerful, uninhibited thrusts that were animalistic in nature.

Again, he repeated his method of sending her over the edge, but he finally felt his own release coming on as well. He plowed, thrusted, pounded until the same wet fapping sound signified her release, but he held back until she was finished.

"AHHH! Da! Ah! Da…..da…AH!"

Her cries of ecstasy was music to his ears as he kept on thrusting, feeling her walls convulse around him.

"I'm cumming!" Jimmy groaned.

And he did—love's sweet lava flowed into the albiness in a frenzied explosion of exquisite sensation; Jimmy's shuddering and cries of bliss only got louder as he felt his seemingly infinite white-hot orgasm spill into her. Tossing his head back, he felt the small beads of sweat clinging to his skin cool down as the air around them began to lower in temperature. With choppy breathing and an everbeating heart, he pulled himself out of her, and she shook slightly, trying to catch her breath as Jimmy propped up an elbow next to her, admiring her pale, nude form—the moonlight seemed to shine on her through the small window, illuminating the small curves of her waist, the softness of her breasts, the contours of her sculpted face and collarbones—she was a vision.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, planting a kiss on her lips.

* * *

_AU-9741_.

The digits were tattooed in pitch-black ink that looked so ghastly against her lily-white skin. It caught Jimmy's eye with the attention-grabbing quality of bright blue peacock feathers soon after getting in a more comfortable position. Naya felt so warm against him, even as a cool, cotton sheet covered them; her head rested softly on his chest to the sound of his beating heart, and her hand rested over the other side near his flat nipple. He touched the tattoo on her forearm, a curious look in his deep, dark eyes.

"You never told me where you got this," he said.

No answer from Naya.

"Naya?" She looked up at him with her intense violet eyes.

"Yes?"

"What is this on your arm?" he asked softly. She realized he was referring to the ink-filled scar that had been forcefully branded on her while a prisoner at Auschwitz.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"It's nothing," Naya repeated.

"And…those scars on your back, I saw—"

"Stop!" the albiness ordered forcefully.

"Naya," he said calmly, trying to coax her hard shell open, meeting his eyes with hers. "You can trust me. I won't tell anyone if you tell me the truth."

"Oh, what_is_ the truth?" she asked herself with frustration.

"Huh?"

Jimmy was clearly confused, but Naya clarified it in the best way she could without self-inducing a post-traumatic episode—she sounded rather cryptic and trivial.

"Oh, what…what is the truth after all of these…lies I've told?" she asked herself.

"What?" Jimmy still couldn't quite understand where she was going. _Lies_, he asked himself, _what does she mean?_ Yet a tear streamed down her cheek, falling onto Jimmy's bare chest as he listened to her speak.

"My family was very poor," she began sadly. "Many nights we could not have food. Many nights in winter we would freeze. But we could not stop it. I had dreams. My grandmother nurtured those dreams. I _still_ have those dreams. For a time, I believed them to be shattered…" She paused and breathed to prevent from sobbing and flashbacks coming back to her. "The Germans hated us for who we were. We were accused of being communist. We were not communist. My parents worked very hard to feed us. Eventually we lost everything—we were their prisoners. I survived. My family did not. I know for a fact that…" She wiped her eye of the tears about to fall, thinking of Oksana, Nikolai, her grandmother, and all of her beloved family members she had been forced to watch die, "they had courage."

She sighed again—"they had courage."

**A/N:**

**The spider's web is still weaving! I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far!**

**Here are some FUN FACTS:**

_1.)__At the beginning, Naya's suicide method was inspired by English novelist Virginia Woolf, who died in the same fashion; by stuffing the pockets of her coat with rocks before jumping into a lake to drown._

2.) _Naya's mini "monologue" at the end is based off of Meryl Streep's performance in the film __**Sophie's Choice**__, a Holocaust-themed drama. "_They had courage_" __is the most important line in the scene._

**Please leave a Review, Favorite and Follow!**

**Thanks again for all of the support! Stay tuned! :3**


	18. Chapter 18

"Naya?"

Dandy had gotten worried—she was no longer next to him in his bed. The last time he had looked to his bedside, he saw Naya with her eyes closed, her heavenly white face exquisite with pallor as she slept. He got out of bed and put on a light blue sweater over a dress shirt the same shade of yellow as pages in a city phonebook with light-colored khakis and two-toned boat shoes. He slicked his raven-colored hair back strategically with a comb before setting out to go look for her. Once his personal maid passed by him in the hallway, she seemed to smile at him cordially as a morning greeting.

"Good mornin', Mr. Mott," she said. "I was just 'bout to come in and wake you. Care for some tea?"  
"Not right now," Dandy replied. "Where is my wife?"

"Naya?"

"Yes, who else?"

"She's down in the parlor with her cat," the maid responded softly. "She says it's getting quite cold in here."

He walked down the stairs briskly, his prim movements fluid as he reached the bottom landing and made his way through the front atrium of the manor down to the parlor, where he stopped himself at the sight of the albiness cooing at her meowing pet, stroking her soft, silver-blue fur as she held a handful of treats in the hand closest to her head. Dandy squinted, looking at her strangely to see she was wearing her trenchcoat over her peachy, frilly nightgown. Her stark white hair was slightly tousled, and there was a strange happiness to her expression.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked. Naya looked up at him, her attention caught by his distinct voice.

"Nothing. It is cold in here," she replied, feeling Sofie nudge against her hand with the treats.

"I don't recall anything wrong with the heating system," Dandy said, moving closer to her as she continued to sit calmly on the sofa, her bare, pale feet barely touching the floor as the cat crawled on her lap and leaped down, prancing into the other room as the sound of a bell caught her attention—it was time for her to have wet food, as provided by the maid. Naya looked at her husband, who took a seat next to her and helped her remove her trench coat, putting it between them.

"Tell me, how did you sleep?" he asked her when he realized there was no response. _I did not sleep_, she thought to herself, answering him in her head, _I made love_.

"Decent," Naya replied.

"Is something the matter, dearest?" he asked, cupping her face in his hand and looking down into her violet eyes intently. Of course there was something wrong—he could see it in her facial expression as her eye twitched involuntarily.

"Well…"

"Well?" Dandy's face was inquisitive; _too_ inquisitive.

Her mind was taken to their one month anniversary of being married—Dandy had done something terribly drastic to celebrate.

* * *

_"__I saved this blood from when my mother died," Dandy had told her when she asked why the tub was filled to the brim with a deep red-colored substance. _

_Naya was in horror at the sight of her satin-robed husband untying the band of cloth that held the flaps together. She gasped, biting her lower lip in fear as he leaned down toward the bathtub, sloshing the water around to mix the blood in with it—her eyes were fixed on his tight, fit buttocks; they were attractive, but she felt nauseous beyond belief._

_"__Do not wash yourself in it!" Naya warned. "That is gross!"_

_"__I read about the powers of bathing in blood shortly before mother died," Dandy smiled, his blue eyes sparkling strangely, "but I wanted to save it for a special occasion, dearest. Today we've been married a month, and I want to share this experience with you."_

_Naya shook her head frantically, gulping down her nausea as she tasted vomit in her throat—she nearly gagged at the thought of her husband immersing himself in an unusual bathing ritual._

_"__N-No! Do not make me!" she pleaded with fear._

_"__Take a bath with me, Naya!" he exclaimed, approaching her rapidly, his flaccid member swinging as he walked. "It'll be like our wedding night! It isn't much of a difference! You bled on me!"_

_"__No!" she shouted, backing away in horror. _

_"__Stop acting so scared of me!" Dandy screamed. "Get in the tub!"_

_"__No!" Naya's voice became more like that of a shrill scream as she continued to back away until her back hit the wall near the door. "I want to go!"_

_"__Well, fine!" Dandy screamed, droplets of saliva hitting her skin as he slammed the wall on either side of her. His wife was clearly intimidated. "So much for marital intimacy. I only wanted to spend time with my wife. Go."_

_Naya, intimidated to tears, felt them run down her cheeks as her eye twitched; Dandy only screamed at her again._

_"__NOW!" he barked. "Before I kill you, too!"_

_She scurried out of the large bathroom, running to her private bedroom and shutting the door behind her, collapsing to the floor against it._

* * *

"Naya?" Dandy asked, seeing her stare off into space before he gave her what seemed to be a friendly shove. "Answer me."

"Oh." She redirected her eyes to her husband's and he looked frustrated.

"Your silence is…utterly provocative," he remarked. "Say something. You were going to tell me that something was on your mind that you needed to address."

"I was thinking…" she began softly, trying to appease him with her tone of voice, "that…well, do you remember how you said…you would give me anything in the world?"

"Why, yes, dearest!" Dandy said enthusiastically. "Name it."

Naya sighed—_this is going to cost me my life_, she thought.

"I want…for you to see a doctor."

There it was—she said it. She finally spoke her mind. Dandy's eyes widened, a venomous expression in them as the clear blue color seemed to sparkle at her strangely. She suddenly felt nervous, but he smiled menacingly and shook his head.

"No, no," he said. "I am perfectly happy and healthy."

"Do you call washing in blood healthy? Do you call coming home with blood on you healthy? What about when you killed your mother? What about when—"

"I'm perfectly happy, Naya. I have you, I have my destiny…" He trailed off with a disturbing smile, looking into his wife's horrid eyes. "I am a god, Naya. I was chosen to walk among men. I cannot begin to tell you how I feel knowing that I am living my destiny, and with you by my side—"

Naya sprung up from her seat, her violet eyes furiously directed at her husband in perfect eye contact.

"LISTEN!" she screeched. "You are _not_ God! You are a _human_! The people you kill are human, too! Do you not have feelings? Do you not have a heart?!"

Dandy was expressionless, a slight smirk hiding in his lips as he looked at the albiness.

"These people that you kill…they have families…feelings…do you not feel terrible for the things you do?"

"I was never destined to feel love," Dandy replied.

"But I know there _is_ love inside you!" Naya exclaimed, walking over to him and taking his hand into hers, kneeling before him in a submissive manner. He looked down into her eyes, admiring how she seemed to bow before him like the god he believed himself to be.

"I thought I already told you, if you remember, that body holds a heart that cannot love," Dandy repeated.

"But…what about _me_?" Naya asked, tears in her eyes. "You promised me to give me anything I wanted or…desired." She paused for a moment, still holding his hand to try and establish some kind of coercive emotional connection.

"You are the only one in this house worth a damn," Dandy crooned nastily.

"You promised!" Naya cried. "_Please_. For me?!"

"Very well," he smiled, shaking his head. "My mother once said to never argue with a woman when she is angry. I'll see someone, but if I don't like how they behave, I will never go to a doctor again."

"Dandy…" Naya's accent made his name sound funny. "I do not want to see any more death. I have seen too much. I want it to end."

* * *

"_Leibchen_? Why are you smiling like a fool?"

The following afternoon at the freak show, Jimmy was still elated from the night he spent with Naya. He had been in an exceptionally good mood since, but deep down, he worried intensely about her; after all the things she had told him about her horrifying life with Dandy, it made him just want to go on his motorcycle and speed off like a white knight on his noble steed and just sweep her off her feet, having her ride behind him as he steers into the sunset. They had been preparing for that evening's show as dinner was being prepared, and a smile had lingered on his face the whole day—her German accent caught his attention.

"Oh! Uh…what?" he asked, going straight-faced for the first time in hours. Elsa approached him, slinking toward him as the feathers of her light, black satin overcoat blew gracefully in the perfumed breeze that followed her.

"I have never seen you this happy," she said. "You're smiling like you've just gotten some." _You have no idea_, he thought, answering her in his mind, _I'm deeply in love_. Paul snickered, standing next to Eve as they arranged audience chairs in perfect order.

"Yeah, mate," Paul cut in, "what's been on your mind? You haven't been this happy in so long."

"It doesn't matter what," Elsa said gruffly. "Make sure these seats are set in the event a full house comes along."

Jimmy finally broke his silence—he remembered the last full house being Naya's performance in ghastly makeup, black costume and graceful, nymph-like ballet.

"Don't expect one," he said sternly. "We haven't had a full house since Naya left."

Elsa looked at Jimmy, piercing him with a mixture of menacing and intimidating intentions as she realized he had a point. Naya, the striking albiness with her ghostly appearance and graceful movements, had graced the stage of the freak show and made a lasting impression. When she first was thought to be missing, everyone had worried about her. When she got married, the majority of them had been there to see her exchange vows and rings.

"Oh, Naya, Naya," she repeated mockingly. "She is married now. I thought you understood that. She has a husband, and may even raise a family. She may be a freak but she is not one of us anymore."

"Don't call her a freak, Elsa!" Jimmy snapped.

As she walked away, she ignored him. Childish runt, she thought to herself as she lit a cigarette. Paul, his seal-like appendages in front of him, looked at his friend and fellow carnie curiously, his cool, light blue eyes kind and inquisitive.

"Jimmy," he said under his breath as he noticed a pained look on his friend's face.

"Yeah?"

"Are you…happy because of Naya?" he asked. He shook his head with a blush.

"She may be married, but she ain't happy," the handsome man with deformed hands responded frankly and quietly.

"How would you know?" Eve asked, looking down at him.

"I saw her," Jimmy revealed.

"Where? When?" Paul asked.

"Recently." He took a sigh and looked at them. "This is only between us, alright? I think her husband is…dangerous."

"How so?" Eve asked, sitting down on one of the seats as Elsa ordered Toulouse, Bette and Dot, and Pepper near the front of the tent. Jimmy leaned in and whispered loud enough so they could hear, but not the others.

"I think….Dandy committed those murders. She told me he has been doing some crazy shit around the house. He even has the pigs wrapped around his finger," Jimmy explained. "I'm so worried about her. She isn't safe in that house. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing."

"Get her, mate," Paul encouraged. "If you need help, we will back you up all the way."

"I should, I should," Jimmy said, biting his lips as he remembered the night of passionate lovemaking he had shared with the albiness. "I gotta get her outta there. I don't know how, but I have to."

* * *

Dandy and Naya were chauffeured to the office of Dr. Feinbloom, the town's most reputable psychologist, two days later. He made sure to look his best even though it was not a lavish affair—even his wife went casual, wearing a mint green dress with white floral print. There was no way he was going to welcome a stranger, especially a doctor, into his home; Naya agreed with him in case he had the subconscious desire to kill. Naya waited outside as Dandy was evaluated by the use of Rorschach inkblots and verbal evaluation. The doctor seemed quite confused at some of the answers Dandy gave to his questions, even frightened to a large degree.

"What do you see in this inkblot, Mr. Mott?" Dr. Feinbloom asked. Dandy glanced down, looking at the sloppy-looking paper mottled with black as he gave his chilling response.

"I see…a man…his arms are cut off and his insides are pouring out for all to see," he said with a smile.

"Alright." The doctor switched inkblots, setting a new one on the desk before him. "Now, what do you see?"

"Oh, that's easy. A man is stabbing a woman to death. Her blood is smeared all over the walls, and it is going to be a _very_ messy clean up," Dandy replied without hesitation, his words fluid and frightening. Dr. Feinbloom furrowed his eyebrows in, looking at him strangely. _There's something wrong with him_, he thought.

"Is that all, Mr. Mott?" he asked. "Are you sure you aren't seeing something else instead?"

"Ugh, I'm bored," Dandy scoffed, staring out the window to his left, a generous amount of solar rays beaming into the room.

"Huh," Dr. Feinbloom muttered, writing down his answer. "Well, it is going to take a few visits to determine the cause of…whatever is concerning your wife, but do you have any questions for me?"

Dandy smiled and clasped his hands together on the desk, looking straight at the doctor with an expressionless countenance, taking a sigh.

"As a matter of fact, yes, doctor," he said casually. "I've been reading in _National Geographic _about the natives of Papua New Guinea. They would go to war with a neighboring tribe, and when they conquered them, the winners would eat the losing tribe's best warriors, and then their medicine man, and then their chief." He paused. "Tell me, do you think it's possible to take someone's power by eating their flesh?"

The doctor widened his eyes timidly at Dandy, shaking his head.

"I don't know, sir," he said. "I think that's all the time we have for now. I'll see you during your next visit, Mr. Mott."

* * *

Naya sat at the desk in her private bedroom—there was no way she was sleeping with Dandy that night. She looked ghostly as ever in a polyester nightgown that had a silky, shiny finish. She was writing in her diary, only the second entry that week. It was the only place she could keep her secrets locked tight both in word and in the boundaries of its lock—Dandy could not read Cyrillic.

"_15 June 1953_

_Dandy finally decided to go see a doctor for his problems. The doctor dismissed him early, but I don't blame him. He was probably saying some very vile things like he has to me on occasion. I honestly don't think I can take him and his behavior much longer. I cannot ask for a divorce, or he will kill me. I cannot just run away, or he will find me and worse. I cannot put the gun to his head because I refuse to stoop to his level. _

_I am good and kind. I feel terrible having to hide my knowledge from the police, but they were being handsomely paid to keep my husband's misdeeds a secret—a million in cash per officer. It is like Hitler was with his soldiers—I feel terrible for these poor people he has killed. I wonder who he has killed while out and about in the middle of the night that he has blood smeared all over him, dressed in his underwear still. Then again, I don't think I'll ever find out. I don't think I want to. I wish I could just tell someone._

_I have confided in Jimmy. Jimmy…I have not seen him in close to a week. God, I made a huge mistake marrying Dandy. I should have left with Jimmy when I had the chance. I love him so. When I'm with him, I feel loved; I feel safe, guarded…he is everything for me. When he came to the manor after Elsa deceived me, I should've left with him then; but I did not love him at that time. Maybe Elsa and I could have become friends instead of just two people who argue. I let my naivety get the best of me—I resented Elsa for her deceitfulness. I also married Dandy because I knew I would always have what I wanted. I thought of my future in the event I have babies; Soviet Russia__was poor for people like us. I was not going to let my children starve or beg or freeze. I promised myself that long ago. I would be able to give them what I didn't have._

_I suppose it is true that you cannot buy happiness—Jimmy is my happiness. He has little money and makes me happy. _

_Speaking of which, I am going to see him now and spend time with him tonight. I can't wait!"_

She closed it, locked it, and stashed it away in her secret hiding place—the pocket of the gray trench coat in the closet.


	19. Chapter 19

Naya loved the time she spent with Jimmy as much as she had come to love him—yet she had to take drastic measures as to not get caught wandering in the night. She took note of Dandy's sleeping patterns, and whenever he looked as though he were in a deep slumber, she would grab a coat and leave discreetly. At the same time, Jimmy anticipated the light knocking on the door of his trailer every two nights or so, and welcomed her in lovingly before sitting down to catch up or making love on his futon bed. Every minute was bliss—Naya felt the love pang in her heart as it beat heavily in her chest. Even after a large amount of time pleasuring one another, they talked while cuddling in his bed. Jimmy seized every opportunity to make her stay longer, every moment safe from Dandy and his vicious ways.

"I got him to see a doctor," Naya had told him, her head resting on his chest. Jimmy's chest rose and fell at the thought of her being married to that monster in his mansion on the hill—_why couldn't it be me_, he thought.

"He's beyond help, Naya," Jimmy said. "He needs to be put away." His dark eyes looked down at her worriedly. "He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Naya shook her head briskly, looking up at him with a slight pout.

"N-No," she said. "Not for a while."

"Well, good, because the next time he does," he said under his breath, "I'll kick his ass."

"He…he may hurt you," Naya objected.

"I ain't afraid of him. He can do his worst," Jimmy interjected.

The albiness propped herself up and looked at him directly, her blind eye twitching slightly as she pressed a hand over his heart. She sighed worriedly and shook her head.

"Jimmy." Her voice sounded stern, her soft Slavic accent sounding angered and impassioned. "I do _not_ want him to hurt you."

"I'll hurt him before he hurts me, and that's a promise," Jimmy stated.

There was a moment of silence, and Naya could feel him kissing the top of her head, his lips touching her soft white hair as his deformed hand traced softly against the pale, alabaster-colored skin of her back.

"Naya," he said.

"Hm?" She glanced up at him and he didn't hesitate to speak his mind.

"The troupe is leaving for up north in July," Jimmy said frankly.

_I can't believe it_, she thought, looking up at him with shock, _does that mean we can never see each other again?_

"What?" she asked in shock.

"We only come down south from October to March, but this year we stayed later than usual," he explained. "I want you to come with us, Naya. I can't spend months being lonely without you. Please say you'll come up north with us next month?"

There it was—her one chance to escape the horrors of Mott Manor and the murderous nature of her husband. The one chance she had not taken before marrying Dandy that would have saved her the grief, the guilt, the shame, the misery; now, it was finally coming back to her. Who knows when she would get this opportunity again? She could not refuse!

"I…I will," Naya said with a joyful nod. "I promise."

"Really?" Jimmy smiled. "I'm…so happy."

"Me too," she replied, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. She looked down into eyes, straddling his pelvis with the sheet covering the lower half of her back. "I…I plan on packing one suitcase with my precious belongings and leaving during the night. Just like how I have been doing to come and see you."

"Good plan, doll," Jimmy smiled, his eyes shining up at her.

"Never again," Naya said, "will I ever see him. I will never return here. I will never have to hide again."

"Oh, come here," Jimmy smirked boyishly, taking the albiness into a passionate kiss as she put a strand of hair behind her ear. She broke the kiss and began to whisper softly, her accent music to the sinfully handsome man's ears.

"I have not danced since before getting married," she revealed sadly.

"What?" Jimmy asked. "But…ain't that what you love to do?"

"Yes, but…" Naya trailed off. "Dandy built me…a dance studio in his home. I never once went in there."

Jimmy looked at her strangely, his eyes meeting with hers and admiring their intense lilac color.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I had no strength," she responded.

* * *

Two nights later had been Naya's next journal entry. At half past eleven in the evening, she penned the following in Cyrillic, channeling her excitement into every character:

"_17 June 1953_

_The light has come into my life. I'm about to become a very happy woman—Jimmy invited me to go up north with him and the rest of the show. Perhaps this is my chance to turn my life around? Maybe I could make up with Elsa and be a part of the show again? After all, the freak show was the closest thing to my dream on the great stage; I have not danced in months. _

_I cannot wait to leave this terrible place—sometimes, I believe it to be no worse than Auschwitz._"

Sighing, she put away her pen and locked the diary tightly, putting it in the closet and nestling it in the large pocket of her gray trench coat before retiring to bed for the evening.

* * *

By the following week, Naya had been visiting Jimmy more frequently in the middle of the night, and he was delighted all over again every time he saw her. She even stayed for longer, sometimes sleeping with him in his futon bed until the very brink of sunrise. Yet she made the necessary precautions to not get caught, making sure to return before Dandy had the chance to wake up or see her entering the house.

Diary entries became a nightly ritual for Naya, as it was the only place to truly spill out her emotions. Dandy hated secrets, and if there was one thing in this world he hated, it was secrets. Secrets are no fun, he had said repeatedly. Yet he would never find out these secrets, written in Russian with intricate-looking Cyrillic cursive, written so intricately with a fine hand that he would not be able to understand it if he were to suddenly have the undeniable urge to look through his wife's belongings on some bizarre expedition. It was her only place of solace.

* * *

"What is this?" Dandy asked, looking at the small, sketchbook-styled book tossed in front of him on the table.

His personal maid, who had been sent to gather some of Naya's clothing to iron and dry-clean the end of the final week of June, had been ironing the gray trench coat that had become the albiness' favorite quick cover-up during her nightly ventures to the grounds of the freak show, where she met with her lover to meet social needs and pleasure. It was when she ran the iron over one of the pockets that she noticed a rectangular-shaped bump; she reached in a pulled out the small sketchbook with a tight padlock on it.

"I found it while ironing," the maid said. "I tried to open it, but it's locked."

"What do you suppose is _in_ this…_diary_?" Dandy asked, a domineeringly cruel tone in his voice as he emphasized the last word of his sentence with gritted teeth.

The maid shrugged.

"Get me a paperclip," he demanded, his hand on the strap of the lock.

A moment of silence had come—he glared at his maid impatiently.

"Now!"

She scurried to the study down the hall, reaching in the drawer for a paper clip and bringing it back to him, her thick, leather heels hitting the stone floor as he sat down and flattened out the ends of the paper clip, bending and twisting until it could be used to unlock. He pierced the lock's hole and shook the paper clip until he heard a click. Smirking, he took off the lock and opened the tightly-bound pages, gasping at the strange alphabet used to write Naya's innermost thoughts and feelings she could never share with her husband.

_Я полагаю, что это правда, что вы не можете купить счастье…_

Dandy was in shock, turning the pages to see if there was anything he could understand.

_Я был бы в состоянии дать им то, что у меня не было…_

The maid peered over her employer's shoulder, looking at the intricate script as written, gasping with her eyebrows furrowed.

_Я ненавижу Денди . Я хочу , чтобы оставить этот ужасный место…_

_SLAM!_

"I told her no secrets!" Dandy screamed. "She _lied_ to me!"

"Mr. Mott?" the maid said, tapping his shoulder.

"What?!" he asked forcefully.

"That is Russian," she said, taking the diary and looking down at the text to reanalyze the type of writing used. "Yes. Russian."

"_NO_! She's Polish! She told me herself! She told my mother, too!" Dandy shouted. "How would you know?"

"I can recognize it," the maid explained. "My grandmother was Polish. I've seen it written. That's not Polish. That's Russian, Mr. Mott."

_That deceitful bitch_, he thought to himself as he collapsed his forehead in the palm of his propped-up elbow, shaking his head with tears forming in his clear blue, venomous eyes.

"I can't believe she would do this. Those dirty communists...she only wanted my money." Dandy sniffled sadly, shrugging angrily. "She only wanted my money."

"Do you…want me to get her, sir?" the maid asked worriedly.

"No, no," he said, waving his hand in a negative motion. "I will handle this."

* * *

That evening, a three-course meal was served for dinner. The appetizer was a fresh Glover salad with romaine and iceberg lettuce topped with garlic croutons, grape tomatoes, and parmesan cheese with a side of Caesar dressing. The main course was a garlic-and-herb marinated lamb chop served with a side of mashed potatoes and broiled mushrooms. However, when dessert came, Dandy seemed so dead-set on watching Naya consume it; a slice of deep-dish, warm cherry pie topped with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream. Naya had been too full to even touch the slice of pie, but Dandy kept his eyes dead on her as he sipped from his wine, noticing her reluctance to eat more food.

"What's the matter, dearest?" he asked, feigning care. _Communist bitch_, he thought in his head, _I hate her, I hate her, I hate her_.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Naya replied, taking the napkin from her lap—she had been wearing a simple, white silk dress with a rather flat-looking skirt. "I excuse myself from the table."

"No, Naya," he insisted. "That slice had been prepared _especially_ for _you_."

"No, thank you. I am fine," she said, putting the napkin that had been protecting her lap for the whole meal as she stood up and left for the parlor.

Dandy suddenly bounced from his seat and walked toward her rapidly, following her into the room as she sat down on the plush sofa, crossing on leg over the other as she looked down. The sound of his piercing voice caught her attention—she looked up at him as he began to speak. It was at that moment he lifted up the journal his maid had found while ironing her lavish clothing earlier that day; she gasped. _That is private stuff_, she thought, _how did he find it?_

"Dearest, I thought you agreed to never keep secrets from me?" he asked sternly.

"Give me that," Naya begged, her voice sounding more angry as she noticed the opened lock. "It is my personal item!"

"You're not playing by the rules!" Dandy shrieked angrily, tears in his eyes. "You kept secrets from me! You're not Polish, are you?! You're a _commie_! A _SPY_! I found this in your room and tried to read it, but it's all mumbo-jumbo…_Russian_?!"

Naya gasped in shock—how dare he make false accusations of her political standing as an individual? What made him think she was a communist and decide to call her out on it? Had the maids all known by that point about Dandy's speculations? Her eyes widened and she gulped dryly as he painfully chucked the diary at her lap as it opened to her final entry—it had been about what she had planned to pack before leaving with Jimmy and the rest of the carnies up north to escape the horrors of Mott Manor.

"How dare you?" Naya asked emphatically, tears welling in her intense violet eyes as she stood up as clutched the diary in her hand. "I am _not _a _communist_!"

"Oh, another lie," Dandy smirked, pacing back and forth. "Always lies from you, Naya. I thought you had a soul as white as your skin, but I was wrong." He suddenly had a burst of rage, his hands in fists as he stomped his foot like a young child not getting his way. "I TOOK YOU IN! I MARRIED YOU! I LOVED YOU! I GAVE YOU ANYTHING YOUR HEART DESIRED! And you had the _GALL_ to LIE! YOU ONLY WANTED MY MONEY!"

"You did _NOT _love me!" Naya screamed, furious for the first time in years at anybody—there were tears flowing down her face. "YOU HURT ME! You've KILLED! You've kept me here like a PRISONER, DANDY! I WANT TO LEAVE HERE! LET ME LEAVE!" Her voice became hoarse, and for a moment, her accent became intimidatingly heavy. "I _HATE_ YOU!"

As he saw Naya collapse back on the plush sofa in the parlor, Dandy seized his opportunity, walking slowly and primly into the dining room toward his wife's place setting, taking the sharpened knife from it slowly and hiding it behind him. Meanwhile, Naya sobbed in fear on the sofa, wailing out in shame and guilt. _I am not a communist_, she thought to herself, _I am not a communist. My family was poor and worked hard, but we did not support the government. Not the way Stalin treated his people_.

She suddenly felt a presence behind her; looking behind her, she gasped to see that it was her husband.

"AH!" she shrieked.

"Soviet bitch," he whispered.

"I am _not_ a communist, Dandy!" Naya shouted. "Yes, I am Russian, but I _never_ hurt anyone. I _never_ supported my country's cause! I am a good person!"

Suddenly, she got on the track of Poland—it was not technically a lie when she told him she came from Poland after the war. He seemed to stare off into space in front of her, taking deep breaths that sounded more like inhalations.

"My entire family was taken to Poland as prisoners!" she cried, weeping and sobbing. "I watched every member of my family die. I was tortured. Starved. Surrounded by death…" She sniffled and continued to sob, struggling to catch her breath. "I can't see anymore death, Dandy! I need to leave! You're hurting me keeping me locked up!"

She suddenly stood up, as did he; he was uncomfortably close to her.

"Very moving story, Naya," he sneered. "I wonder what _other _fabrications you have yet to tell me."

"I feel nothing but hate around me. I'm not safe here! _Please_! Let me leave! I want to go!" she exclaimed.

Dandy shook his head, looking down at her condescendingly. Naya, however, was hoping for the best—for him to give her his approval to leave Mott Manor and her life in the lap of luxury for good. However, she feared the worst as well—he could have done something terrible to her. He laughed maniacally, lightly tapping the albiness' shoulder.

"Naya, you seem to forget that I am a god," he responded in a frighteningly calm manner. "I was chosen to walk among men. I took a…_cow_ as a wife. I gave that _communist cow_ everything she desired. The greed I've seen out of you is _pathetic_. I made a _big_ mistake." He paused, and Naya grew nervous. "Do you know what the United States does to Soviet refugees? They deport them. The Soviet Union then sends them back to, perhaps, labor camps in cold, freezing Siberia. They may toss you in a prison cell somewhere and throw away the key." He paused again, and Naya felt tears rolling down her face. "They may even hire a firing squad for your execution."

Naya looked at him, no answer escaping her lips as her blind eye twitched uncontrollably. Her lower lip trembled, looking up at him frightfully—she had a fleeting thought of Jimmy.

"But I am a god. I decide people's fate. I have decided I am giving you the easy way out."

_SLASH!_

Dandy swiftly retrieved the knife he had snuck in from the dining room and violently swiped the blade across Naya's neck, slitting through her carotid and jugular as she gagged uncontrollably, feeling the heavy amount of pressurized blood escape her body and onto Dandy's clothing. She collapsed to her knees, grabbing the bottom of his saturated, bloodied suit coat in a desperate attempt to hang on for dear life—he reached down and smacked her livid, pale hand away, hearing her final, short gasp of air before she collapsed to the soft carpet.

The killer looked down at the corpse of his dead wife and blood that had saturated and splattered nearly the entire area including his clothing. Her eyes were half open and fish-like, a pallid lilac-pink color that seemed to stare off into space as in life. Her skin took on a more livid blue color rather than the vivacious white that had been caused by her albinism while alive; Naya's overly-pallid corpse was covered in blood, and the wound from where he had slit her throat seemed to already fester. Her eyelashes were ever so full and light blonde, and her lips only had its last bit of natural pink color left. Against the saturated carpet she had died on, she reminded him of the times when she had worn red, and how it looked like blood spilled on virgin snow against her.

He smiled, sniffling with tearful joy at what he had done.

"Naya the Living Ghost," he muttered to himself. "But you're not living anymore. You're…just a ghost."

He chuckled and smiled tearfully—he soon noticed that her engagement and wedding rings were gone from her left finger.

**A/N:**

**They don't call the genre "tragedy" for no reason. Naya is dead, everyone. I'm so sorry for your losses. Let's take a moment to reflect on her life as we saw it throughout the story….*****_bows head_*****….**

**Please leave a ****Review****, ****Favorite**** and ****Follow****!**

**Thank you and happy reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

The following week had begun the month of July, and the carnies were heading up north. Jimmy had grown worried and anxious when Naya did not show up to the camp, as promised, with her suitcase of belongings. The tents were taken down and put into trucks, and Elsa pranced around the scene with a cigarette between her lips, anxiously waiting for Naya the Living Ghost to come with them so they could venture up north.

"Jimmy," she asked, approaching him as he paced back and forth. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" he shouted.

"Remember to whom you are speaking," Elsa sneered, blowing smoke into his face as their eyes met.

"She promised to come here!" he exclaimed. "She promised to come in the middle of the night. I'm exhausted from staying up so late just waiting for her. She still ain't here!"

"Do you think she forgot?" Paul asked, his English accent sounding inquisitive as he adjusted his signature fedora.

"No, she couldn't have," Jimmy replied, walking away from the scene and putting his motorcycle cap atop his gelled brown curls as he straddled his motorcycle and got the ignition going, his hands on the handles as Elsa approached him rapidly.

"Where are you going? We leave in another hour! Get off that bike!" she barked authoratively.

"I ain't leaving yet," Jimmy said, "I'm going to that mansion on the hill to see where Naya is."

_VROOM…_

And he sped off with the wind blowing his button up, dark red, short-sleeved shirt.

* * *

"_If you're happy and you know it,_

_Clap your hands…_

_If you're happy and you know it,_

_Clap your hands…_"

Jimmy was welcomed in by the maid, who told him to wait in the parlor as Dandy was busy with something. Yet upon entering the said place, he gasped to see remnants of where a generous pile of blood inlaid itself into the rug. He gasped, suddenly frightened as the image of Naya's face came to mind; the albiness' striking beauty had captivated him to the point of genuine love. Now, he felt his personal suspicions rise as he ran from room to room in search of her; he called out her name repeatedly.

"Naya?!"

No answer.

"Naya!"

Still no answer.

"NAYA?!"

Yet again, no answer. So he ran up the staircase in the atrium, his eyes too focused on the top landing to be distracted by the genuine crystal chandelier that hung ceremoniously from the ceiling. _That better not have been Naya's blood_, he thought, _I will kill him_.

Upon reaching the top landing, he heard strange noises coming from behind one of the closed white doors. He walked slowly over to it, hearing maniacal laughing and a piece of familiar classical music being played on a record player. The sound of something being knotted also caught his attention as he slowly turned the knob, taking the greatest care to not get caught in the act. As it became silently ajar, Jimmy peeked through at a heinous, diabolical sight that sent him over the edge as his blood boiled ferociously inside him.

"Now you're my puppet, Naya," Dandy said to the extremely pallid, nearly blue corpse of his wife.

Jimmy had opened the door to the dance studio Dandy had built for his wife in the place of his old playroom; the room she never got the chance to go into in its renovated form. Mirrors lined two of the walls behind ballet barres that had been placed for Naya's possible use. It all narrowed down to a small stage at the very end of the room, where the albiness' corpse was strung up like a marionette at the wrists and ankles and dressed in a white tutu-style ensemble with feather-like accents. Her lifeless feet had been placed in the satin white ballet shoes, his first gift to her, as the toes rested on the floor of the stage. Jimmy looked in horror and hatred as he noticed that Naya's throat was slashed open, remnants of blood remaining in her stark white, thin hair and on her stone-tinted skin.

"You said you wanted to dance on the great stage, so I made the great stage _for_ you!" Dandy exclaimed—by this point, Jimmy let the door silently drift open by itself, watching as the maniacal man-boy moved the strings to make the stiff corpse move in time with the Black Swan sequence from _Swan Lake_.

"Spin for me! I love how you put your leg up in the air, dearest!" Dandy exclaimed excitedly, laughing insanely.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Jimmy's scream was risky, but he could not hold himself back as Dandy jumped and looked back at the open door, glaring at the man with deformed hands.

"Weren't you taught to knock?" Dandy asked demeaningly. "I'm having private time with my wi—"

_PUNT!_

Jimmy, without hesitation, forcefully punched the side of Dandy's head with all his might, knocking him out cold as Naya's corpse, just a morbid marionette that had fallen along with him, thudded against the floor of the stage. The young man, with tears of incredulity in his eyes, ran toward where Naya's corpse had landed and took the strings tied to her wrists and ankles off her person. He looked down, her bloodied head just brushing his lap, nearly gagging at the smell of putrefying, pallid blue flesh as he noticed her fish-like, dead eyes were slightly open.

"Naya…" He began to sob. "No…"

He took a moment of tears, sobbing his heart out as he muttered sweet nothings to his love. He then took a moment to blame himself for not doing anything—_I could have saved her_, he thought, _why hadn't I? It's all my fault_. When he finally stood up, he shook his head, sobbing still as he made his way off the stage and to Dandy's unconscious body.

Ring-ring!

Suddenly, the phone had wrung—Jimmy ran down the hall and into the closest room he could go into where there was a phone and answered it.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Jimmy?" the voice on the other end asked.

"Yes?"

"It's Maggie. Elsa told me to call you. I looked up the number after hearing where you were going," the voice explained. Jimmy rolled his eyes and sighed blankly.

"Naya is dead," he said.

"What?" Maggie asked with disbelief.

"I think he killed her," Jimmy wept quietly. "Listen, send me Eve, Dell, the twins and Desiree. The big mansion on the hill. We need to bring him back to the grounds. He needs to be taught a lesson."

"Jimmy, don't stoop to his—"

"DO IT!" Jimmy screamed, slamming the phone back on the receiver.

* * *

Bette and Dot had not come, but Eve, Dell, and Desiree managed to make it to Mott Manor with Paul along with them. They not only snuck Dandy's unconscious body into the car they came in, but Naya's corpse was put in the trunk. Jimmy had objected to his love just being stashed in the trunk, but they had no choice and the carnies did not want to smell the stench of decomposition.

Strangely, Dandy's personal maid had not even noticed his disappearance—she had been in the garden watering the tulips over the grave of Dora, the maid before her whom Dandy had killed in the same manner as Naya but under different pretenses.

* * *

Back at the camp, the last tent, overlooked by the movers, was still up—inside, Dandy was placed in dead center surrounded by the freaks. Everyone was armed with some kind of sharp weapon or blunt instrument; Jimmy had a hatchet he had found outside, Eve had a meat cleaver, Paul had a pronged hammer, Elsa had one of her throwing knives, Desiree and Dell each had steak knives—the only one not participating in the vengeful act was Maggie, who sat in a corner and watched. Bette and Dot, however, were holding the gun given to them by Jimmy, as he had stolen it before leaving the manor.

Everyone was furious over Naya's heinous murder at the hands of her spoiled man-boy of a husband, but the one with the most anger boiling in him was Jimmy—_she did not deserve to die_, he thought, _he is going to pay for what happened to her_.

He had woken up just a half hour after he was put in the tent, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his head like a speeding bullet. Dandy rubbed his temple and looked around to see the freaks horded around him, waiting for him to regain consciousness.

"What the…" For once, Dandy felt fear overcome him. "What is going on?! Where am I?"

"You wanted to be a part of the show?" Jimmy asked cruelly. "You're getting what you asked for, big shot!"

They drew closer to him, surrounding him at all angles. He tried to reach into his pockets to find his gun to try defending himself, but he looked right up and saw that Bette, the left side of the conjoined body she shared with Dot, was holding it and pointing it right at him.

"That's _mine_!" he shouted.

"Not anymore," she said.

"What you did to Naya was unforgivable!" Dot hissed.

"And now you gonna pay!" Desiree added as they each slowly drew nearer to him. "You may look like a motion picture _dreamboat_, but you are the _biggest freak_ of them all!"

They drew closer to him, and Bette shot him in the shoulder.

"AH!" he screamed, reaching to where he was shot and feeling blood pour out of him. "N-Naya was a spy! She was sent here from Russia! I found a diary! All in Russian! She was a communist _spy_! A Soviet _pig_! A—"

"YOU DUMB PIECE OF SHIT!" Jimmy shouted. "Naya came here for a better life! They weren't just going to give her a good one! She was dirt poor, dammit!"

Elsa tossed one of her throwing knives at his leg, hitting him in the upper thigh as blood poured out of him generously.

"AHH!" Dandy screamed.

"Naya married you…you took her in…gave her whatever she desired…" Elsa hissed in a violent-sounding whisper. "You killed her…you brought death to us…for that, you must _pay_!" Her eyes seethed through him like a raging, roaring fire as she tossed the next one into his other thigh—now he was beginning to feel faint, and that is when the final breath was spoken by the freaks.

"You killed the woman I love! You ruined my life…and for that, we will ruin _yours_!" Jimmy screamed.

"You can't kill me!" Dandy shouted. "I'm immortal!"

"YOU ARE GOING TO _DIE_!" Jimmy barked, sounding like a mad dog at the end of his leash. "ATTACK!"

The bloodshed began—the freaks hacked him, stabbed him, mutilated him, struck him, slogged him; all in an intense ambush that left a huge bloody mess and Dandy screaming for mercy along with cries of hate. Jimmy, though he was busy hacking his limbs to immobility with the hatchet, struck him in the chest to deal the final blows that would kill him. By the time they backed away, they saw that Dandy was dead, nothing but a mass of chopped-up, incised flesh with brain matter pouring out one end of his body. Even his left arm had fallen off from Jimmy's excessive, fury-driven blows with the hatchet.

Maggie had tears in her eyes, traumatized from the sight she had just bore witness to. Elsa looked back at her, glaring intensely as her dress was covered in blood—everyone needed a change of clothes at that point.

"What's the matter, _leibchen_?" the German asked. "You act like you've never seen a dead body before."

Maggie remained quiet and tight-lipped, still with disbelief at the gruesome scene.

* * *

Naya's body was buried that night—the movers had started going up north to Michigan, where they would spend the summer entertaining those interested in seeing human oddities. They had no time for a coffin, but Maggie and the twins had gathered flowers to bury with the deceased albiness—chrysanthemums. Jimmy was in tears even as he dug the grave, only four feet under; Dell, Paul, and Toulouse had helped him dig before setting the body neatly in its new home. Jimmy's eulogy had been heartfelt and entirely improvised, working his way through the tears and remembering her for who she was.

"Naya was…very strong…" he began. "She…she knew all the steps to Tchaikovsky's ballets and danced perfectly. She was…flawless…and captivating. To me, she was not just a…living ghost or…an albino woman…or another beautiful girl to look at..." He smiled sadly, sniffled. "She was a person. She had courage." He sobbed his next sentence, crying his heart out. "She wanted a better life for herself…a s-second chance…I…I can only imagine what her life was like back in her country…and…w-when…she was a prisoner….being kept and c-cruelly treated for who she was…and what she was…but it…" He sniffled, tears flowing down his face in unison with the others; Pepper wailed uncontrollably to empathize with her fellow carnie, "was…only…natural for her to leave there and come here, you know?"

He paused, tossing a white rose into the four foot deep grave with her pallid, livid corpse resting in it. It was the last glimpse of the pitch black digits tattooed into her forearm—_AU-9741_; about as horrifying as how she looked nestled in her final resting place. Elsa then took the ballet shoes she had worn in life and placed them at her feet in the open grave.

"So you can dance in heaven, _leibchen_," she sobbed.

Jimmy looked down, tears running down from his eyes.

"You had courage, doll," he muttered. "You had courage."


	21. Epilogue

Alone.

Of course it would come to this point, especially since her soul had drifted out of her body the moment her final breath was taken. Not much had changed—yet her blind eye could finally see again. She was translucent, white, and ghostly— just like in life. _They probably went up north without me_, she thought to herself as she floated past the manor she once called home.

She seemed to visualize the external architecture of Mott Manor even in the darkest of night—columns rising to accent the door and double-paned windows with black shutters made of only the finest, most durable materials. The short flight of stairs leading to the front door looked majestic even if it meant entering a house of horrors. The front had well-kempt flowering shrubs and colorful hydrangeas in bright shades of vibrant hues. The humid summer wind was no longer a bother to the spirit, but she floated toward the manor, worrying not about bumping into things, and seeped through the door and onto the other side. She even remembered where the light switch was and turned it on, gasping in an echoed breath to see the majority of furniture and belongings of the Mott family covered in thick tan burlap and old, faded white sheets.

She floated through the grand atrium and into the parlor, seeing the sofas, tables, lamps, statuary and other curios covered by the cloth materials. She even noticed a distinct stain in the one-soft rug, but could not quite make out what it was; it looked like a puddle of something that had been bleached. Her lilac-violet eyes seemed to glow even in the light, and she suddenly heard familiar footsteps, slowly fading out of sight. Though she was invisible, she could see that it was Dandy's personal maid; she seemed to look around strangely.

"What the…" she said, making the spirit nervous and drift aside; she was not visible, but she drifted in midair with caution. "I don't remember leaving this light on."

The maid proceeded to move through the albiness' pale-white spirit, flicking the light switch off. Yet when she turned around, the spirit was in full view for her to see—a ghastly aura surrounding a translucent form dressed in as long, white gown similar to her debut performance at the freak show; eyes that were not only their same lilac color, but seethed through her and glowed. Her hair and skin were the exact same stark white color as it was when she was alive, as were her eyebrows. Even her once sugar pink-colored lips were now a stark pale color, frightening and intimidating as the maid gasped loudly and screamed, putting a hand to her chest.

"M-Mrs. Mott?" she exclaimed. "What…how…huh?"

The ghost just stared, her eyes boring holes through her as she watched the woman collapse to the floor, turning pale and livid just as she had when Dandy's slit her throat—she was literally scared to death from the presence of the apparition.

The ghost floated out of the parlor slowly, drifting up the grand staircase of the atrium and down the hallowed hallway of the upper floor, turning her head to see a simly-lit room with mirror lining the walls and remnants of ribbons hanging from the life-sized, small stage at the far end of the room. The white ligatures were suspended, and the ghost turned her eyes upwards to see a hook holding an extension of the strings that resembled a pulley. In the corner was a vintage record player that had the needled arm set to the side. She floated over, seeing that the ballet barres were uncovered, and put the record on to one of her signature tunes to dance to—_Lake in the Moonlight_ from Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_.

She had been buried with her old ballet pointe shoes, and she took them out of seemingly thin air and put them on, taking her time with lacing them before beginning to sashay during the climax of the song. A few pirouettes later, she made an arabesque in between before one long, seemingly endless spin reminiscent of her days on the stage of a traveling show. That is when she noticed a green mist at her feet; it was just as ghostly as her.

She trembled as the form of a tall, refined man came into being wearing a cape-like coat over an elegant suit, a top hat over his neat dark hair, his penetrating dark eyes peering down at her in the same ghostly manner hers had naturally done, and the pewter skull on the top of his black wooden cane. The ghost had seen this figure before, perhaps in a distant memory, and as his face came into clear view, she immediately recognized him as the carnie spirit who had spared her life in exchange for her heartbreaking life story.

"Hello, my child," he said—_Edward Mordrake_, the other ghost thought. "Good tidings to you."

"It's you," the spirit said.

"Correct me if I am wrong about your name," he commanded. There was a moment of silence as he pressed the top of his skull-capped cane into the wooden floor. "Kateynka."

"Yes," the ghost said with widened violet eyes.

"You have proceeded to haunt your own home even after your death," Mordrake said, his penetrating dark eyes looking at the ghost of the albiness. "I have not forgotten the tortured soul that was once spared by the demon and I."

The albiness' spirit floated before him, looking dead into his eyes during an awkward silence; her breath sounded as echoed as her speech.

"What difference does it make?" she asked. "I am dead."

"Indeed you are. It is far too soon for All Hallow's Eve, but a spirit such as I knows no bounds. I roam the earth with the demon at my side until an unwitting freak performs in due time," he explained. "You, my child, roam the earth as well. You have not fulfilled your heart's purpose, have you?"

She shook her head sadly, her lips letting an echoed sigh from her form.

"Your life was heinously taken by one you trusted and loved," he continued.

She shook her head, looking up at Mordrake, whose height was only made taller by his top hat.

"I lost love for him," she replied sadly, sounding tearful even though tears were not evidently flowing from her ghostly, pale purple eyes. "He gave me whatever I wanted, but I learned that happiness cannot always be bought. My lover had little, but he loved me in every way."

"Yes, my child. I know of your pains," Mordrake said calmly, his voice booming with tranquility. "Love is a luxury not everyone can afford. Your husband was indeed wealthy, but he had _too_ much to offer. Too much to try to love you. One cannot buy love. He was blinded by his privileges."

"Before I married him, I lived here for some months," the albiness' ghost said. "During that time…I thought of the children I would have once liked to have. It was…sort of selfish to think this way, but I believed that having a husband with money and power would allow me to give my children what I could not have. They would never starve. They would never freeze. They would never be in danger. They…" She paused and looked down, pursing her lips downward, "would be happy."

The ghost began to cry and sob, her weeping echoing through the dance studio her murderous husband had built for her in life as Mordrake held his raven, flowing cape out for the albiness' spirit to nestle and be consoled by his fearsome, yet respected, sympathetic presence. Mordrake held her close at the waist, feeling the slenderness of her spirit form as he turned with her and looked down at her.

"Look before you, my child," he said, holding a handkerchief to her eyes to wipe them dry.

The bright violet eyes of the spirit looked over as directed and gasped at the sight of a few familiar faces of freaks who had been taken by the famed carnie legend over the years. There had been the fat lady with the slit throat; a man with excessive hair on his face that made him look like a dog; there was an abnormally tall acrobat man who was dressed flamboyantly in stripes; there was even a large clown, who had been Mordrake's more recent addition to his collection of companions.

"He won't hurt you," the large clown said; he sounded somewhat slow. "You are already dead."

"I…I don't understand, mister," the albiness asked, looking up into the two-faced ghost's penetrating eyes.

"Please accept my invitation to become my newest companion, my child," Mordrake pleaded. "Your needs will be taken care of, you will be in good company, and you will be under our protection for the rest of eternity."

She had heard those words before—all your needs will be taken care of. It made her think of Dandy, so she backed away from Mordrake and looked up at him. He could easily sense the fear in her eyes, but he hovered over to where his group of companions was, holding out his hand.

"I understand that you have heard those words before from a man you were expected to trust and love," he boomed, "but it is an entirely different affair when you are with us. You are not alone. You will never be alone again."

As he held out his hand, the albiness' spirit was about to reach out and take it, but then she thought of the family she had lost—her beloved grandmother, her beautiful sister Oksana, her hardworking parents, her oldest brother Alexei, younger sister Evgeniya, and of course, her youngest sibling Nikolai, who had died so brutally so young.

"Wait," said the ghost of the deceased albiness.

"Yes, my child?" he asked; his eyes, for once, did not look so frightening.

"Allow me to see my family, and I will join you," she said.

After a brief moment of thought, the legendary carnie spirit nodded his head.

"You have my word," he told her. "You will be able to see them whenever you would like. I will see to it."

Taking his gloved hand without hesitation, he floated toward him and faded away. The manor was now officially desolate and empty.

**A/N:**

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